No Mercy, Only Violence
by Secretly Immortal
Summary: At the beginning of the 21st century, a war began, a war between vampires and humans. Only the merciless survive through blood, battle, and burning fires. When the head of the largest group of rebels is captured, is there any hope of survival? AU, OOC
1. Chapter 1

**I hate myself for starting this... but at the same time, I don't. *evil grin* Deal with it. SO, a questioned posed to me from my online class, in one lesson: **Would you be willing to sacrifice everything for your freedom and liberty?

**My answer: of course... also, I remember using the exact words "I will not bow" at the end, so... And then, the plot bunnies descended and began to throw live grenades into my brain. *sighs* Giving up writing is harder than I thought it would be T_T No one wants me to, and every time I start a new story, I don't want to either. I'm soooo tired, I haven't slept a wink~ Please internet, please let me sleep? Forgive my mistakes, please. And hey! Maybe this story will give me the inspiration for TGC'R'!... Probably not, but still!**

**I don't own Twilight, but I hope this idea is a new one that y'all like well and good enough.**

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Keep running, keep moving, never look back, never think twice, don't think at all - just DO. 

_It was the motto, or, a motto of sorts, at the very least. It was the best they had, this faction of the Daemons, at the very least. The motto was different for each city any Daemon recruit might manage to travel through - though few ever survived leaving a city, hell, few survived the city enough to travel out of it. The Angels would descend upon them, in the dark corners that the poor, unfortunate recruit might find themself in at one point of another, and then the blood would splatter and spray, and the screams would warn off any others. A comrade lost was lost indeed; there was no saving them once they had been found by an Angel._

_The war of Angels and Daemons had begun in the early years of the twenty first century. The Angels, in all their glory, had revealed themselves to be walking amongst the common class Daemons, and the Daemons, in all their common-ity, had fallen to their knees to worship these demi gods. All had been well, until it had been found that the Angels were not as good and beautiful as they all seemed, but were, instead, quite vile, quite corrupt, quite evil. They would drain the life of a child, and laugh as the blood dribbled down their pale, pale necks. And vengeance against them was a useless thought - Angels were superior, and Daemons were weak. But Angels had a weakness, one they had tried to hide, but the Daemons had found out anyway..._

_Angels were weak against fire._

_The war hadn't started immediately after that had come about; first their came the murmuring through the masses, a gathering of forces, both on the sides of the Daemons, and on the sides of the Angels, then there came revolts - first few, and far between, and then many. A cacophony of voices rose in anger, hatred spread like wild fire, Angels descended like God's army, to destroy, to decimate - and when the screams filled the air, blood and gore littered the streets more and more every passing day - that was when the warring began. Fires rose and fell, bodies built, and decayed, and the stench was revolting to all, but no Daemon would dare to wander too far from the rot, because clear air would be their downfall, clear air would reveal them to the Angels, and then they, too, would join that pile and those corpses in the rot. They would fall, and none would miss them, none would rue the passing. Fools deserved death, for not observing the proper way to live._

_The proper way to live differed with each city, with each Daemon, or each Daemon organization. The smaller factions depended on one another; they were about the group, and surviving only through the blood, sweat, and tears of fellow Daemons. The larger factions believed in this philosophy as well as the rest, but they were better practiced in the art of apathy: if one must die to save the rest, then one shall die so the rest may live, even if that death should come at the hands of a lover, a son, or a best friend. Many Daemons had followed this; many cities had been destroyed and burned to the ground by Daemons themselves. It was necessary, and therefore, it was right. _

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"_Boss_," the soft hiss of a voice through the headset was heard only because the receiving end had the advantage of sensitivity. Silencer clothing had been put to good use for this one; the cloth was dark, sturdy but soft, and the wearer was smart and agile - they knew how to move in such a way that even the Angels would struggle to detect them. "_We're in position. Forty yards and closing._"

"Good," the returning murmur was just as low as the initial Intel, delivered in a voice as soft and smooth as velvet. One could almost believe it were an Angel, had they not know better. "No mercy."

"_No survivors._" the chuckle was only half legible over the soft crackle of the radio, but full pink lips tilted up into a cruel smirk at the finishing statement.

"Of course," Raising a pair of black binoculars up to eye level, one hand raised to flick up the eye shield of the helmet that cut the wearer off from the rest of the world. Dark, emotionless eyes peered through the lens, and that smirk only grew as the added sight allowed her to witness the Angels, almost floating across the ground in search of the prey they knew to be about somewhere, getting ambushed by her team "Boom." Even as she allowed the word to fall from her lips, fires blasted up from a small mound of corpses that the unfortunate Angels had wandered near, the explosion tearing up asphalt and catching the Angels quite by surprise. Their screams of pain and terror tore through the mid-morning air, rising above the smoking stacks of burning bodies that littered almost every corner of the ramshackle city that the woman could see from her perch - the sound would alert other Angels to their peril, but she knew from experience, that Angels (much like their Daemon counterparts) were much more adept at leaving comrades to die than running into the fire themselves just to save them.

"_Success!_" Another soft laugh, slightly louder than the previous, crackled over the bud in her air and she smiled softly now, all cruelty left in the wake of the warm joy that spread through her at her comrade's happiness. "_Orders?_"

"Stay where you are, a body collector might pass through next," she told him coldly, belying the smile on her face. Now was not the time for babying her underlings, lest they feel that they suddenly had the right to relax. That was not the case at all. Were they to relax, the Angels would surely sense it, descend upon them like they had so many countless others, and it would be they who would be the next corpses used as a falsity, a trap to lower the guard of Angels, bodies packed with fire bombs. The last corpses they'd just used were those they had lost only last week, after all - the Angels were foolish in their own ways, believing that Daemons still clung to emotions as they had when the war had first begun... The Angels were wrong, very wrong. She crouched where she had been crouched for nearly an hour, sweating underneath the layers of her Silencer clothing, the stench of her body masked by the clothing as much as her heartbeat and breaths were (she had already flipped the face guard back down), and though her muscles protested this position, she sat still and silent, waiting... always waiting...

When at last thirty minutes had passed, and the sickeningly sweet purple smoke that always came from the burning of an Angel had stopped rising thickly into the death-scented air, she moved. She did not stand and stretch screaming muscles, but instead pushed her body lower to the roof top, crawling backwards towards the secret trap door she'd used to get up here. With neither faint hiss of click to assure her that the door had opened, she slid confidently back into the dark recesses of the secret panel she'd opened with a button on the control console on the forearm of her suit, watching as the panel slid shut behind her before she began the slow climb through the pitch black tunnel of the air conditioning system that this used to be.

"_Boss? I register your movement, you returning to base?_" The question is sudden, and seems almost loud in the intense quiet of the small shaft, but she does not flinch, does not react at all, and only continues her careful climb back down to ground level.

"Follow me," she growls back into the receiver of her helmet, nodding to herself when she hears several affirmatives. By the time she makes it to ground level and drops down from the ceiling, landing in a silent crouch on layers upon layers of broken glass that _should_ crunch under foot, there is already someone there waiting for her. Their clothing is just as dark as hers, with a helmet to match her own, but for the slight discoloration of the protective glass. Where hers is a black that light does not even shine off of, theirs is a dark, iridescent blue. Only a nod from her, and a return nod from her waiting companion, communicate their acknowledgement of one another, and then they are off, running swiftly and silently through corridors, ignored the few dead bodies that still litter the decrepit office building, or the slashes of blood splattering across the odd wall.

When they reach a deceptively blank wall, the Boss slides her gloved hand across the wall, to the right, and pushes softly against it, until a square just larger than her hand, depresses inward. The wall slides to the side, opening up a passage, undetectable to any Angel that should happen across the wall beforehand, that the Boss nods for her companion to step through. When they do, she removes her hand from the depressed switch, sliding in quickly behind her companion as she wall begins to slowly slide shut behind them both. A slight push and her companion moves farther to the dead end of the rather short passage, turns, and faces her. They reach up; thumbs pressing against switches on the bottom, back edges of the helmet, and with a soft hiss, the switches release and the helmet is pulled off. With a toss of the head, blonde hair spills out and a soft sigh leaves pale red, pouty lips.

"That was too easy," the woman sighs as she holds the helmet against her cocked hip, running a gloved hand through her sweaty blonde locks. A scowl mars her pretty, flushed face, but behind her helmet, the Boss is smiling.

"It always is," Coming from behind her helmet, the sound of her voice is mechanical, distorted as such for the purpose of confusing the Angels. They cannot tell if the Daemons they fight are _truly_ Daemons, or the robots they so cleverly created to do more dirty work for them. Reaching up herself, with a soft hiss and a similar head toss of her own, mahogany hair tumbles out of the helmet that she holds against her abdomen. "Feeling fearful, Rosalie?" A snort is her answer, and she smiles to herself. Switching the helmet to her left hand and raising her right hand to her mouth, the Boss pulls a glove off with her teeth; barehanded, she reaches out to her right and runs her naked fingertips across the wall. A prick of her finger across the small, sharp pin in place, and the blood scanner recognizes the sample she gives; soon, the small space they stand in gives a slight jump, and with a soft hiss of hydraulics, the floor begins to lower them down to the underground base.

"Easy for you, perhaps; you didn't have to get your hands dirty stuffing the dead," Rosalie accuses softly. This is untrue, the Boss had had to deal with more dead than Rosalie would care to imagine, but for this particular incident, the Boss was able to keep her hands 'clean'. The Boss did not respond to her accusation, however, choosing only to smile. "Did you have any trouble on topside?"

"None at all, this appears to be a clean break," the Boss shook her head softly, allowing a sigh to drift past her lips. "But I want you fed and well rested in five hours, we've got another mission."

"Oh?" A quirk of a blonde brow, a curious smirk thrown her way, but she only nods, waiting for the question to follow. She does not make it a practice to answer silence. "And what, pray tell, is that?"

"We are intercepting a convoy of the Priests," Blue eyes widen and blink in disbelief, her mouth drops open and she turns to the Boss, standing tense beside her.

"What? Are you serious?" Only a terse nod in response, and a sharp look. Rosalie swallows back the harsh retort she had at the ready, gritting her teeth for a moment before she lets out a slow breath. "Head count?"

"A dozen, at the least," the Boss answers with sniff, rubbing at her nose as she glances away. She's nervous, she won't admit it, but Rosalie can see it in her actions, in the way she refuses to meet her eyes.

"You're mad!" Rosalie hisses at her, leaning closer.

"Clearly," she responds wryly, grinning at the taller blonde woman. Closing her eyes as she leans back, she sighs and shakes her head, touching one hand to her head as if to steady herself, to steady her thoughts.

"Will the Gods be there?" she asks after taking a moment to compose herself. The Priests are the strongest of the Angels, by far. They stand close to the Gods on a daily basis, watch over them, protect them. They are the reason no successful attempt to overthrow the Gods has ever been carried out. They kill quickly, fiercely, and without mercy. The Daemons despise them, as they despise all Angels, but they revere them for their abilities.

"If we are lucky."

"And you wish to take them all out?" Another nod, but now she does not move her eyes from the wall in front of her. The floor finally comes to a stop, another hiss of hydraulics, and only one moment before the wall slides to the side and opens up the main floor of the base. "You're a fool." Rosalie tells her as she steps out of the elevator, frowning again as she turns to face the Boss as she, too, steps out of the elevator.

"And you're the fool who follows me." the Boss replies, again, with an easy grin on her face. It does not reach her eyes. They never do. A shake of the head, a soft sigh, and Rosalie turns her back to her commander, striding down another hall, towards her living quarters. "Michael!" she barks suddenly, head snapping to the side, where a man sits at a large monitor, eyes glued to the screen, watching eight different live broadcasts of the security cameras they have placed around the complex. Another Watcher, Angela, sits twenty feet to the right, looking upon a similar display that covers a wider radius outside of the complex range. Michael turns around, regarding the Boss with a mix of admiration, and fear.

"Ma'am!" He salutes her, but she waves the gesture off as she strides closer to him.

"Give me the mike, I wish to make an announcement," He nods at her command, offers another salute accompanied by the automatic 'Yes ma'am' response that seems, to her, programmed into nearly every one of her comrades (barring Rosalie, of course). As he hands her the mike and strikes a few keys on the lit up board, sitting directly in front of the large monitor, she takes a moment to observe her base, to think of all the people she had come to depend upon, all the people that had come to depend upon her. "Alright you lot, it's time to show me what you're made of. Tonight..." A pause, as the echoes of her own voice reach her ears, the forced, gruff edge almost makes her smile (even she does not know why she chooses to be so hard with them all). "We take on the Gods! I want my special tactics team at the ready in FIVE HOURS. Medics, be ready for emergencies, and the rest of you, pray that we make it back alive..."

She can already hear cheers echoing from other corridors, leading to the Mess Hall and training areas, and now she does smile.

"Are we really gonna do it, Bella; are we really taking on the Gods?" Michael utters in awe, blindly reaching for the mike she is handing back to him. Bella smiles at his slip up, but doesn't scold him for it as she usually would. He's always had a soft spot for her, and she's found it endearing.

"Is it not fate that children shall surpass their parents?" She grins when he blushes at her and turns away. Bella Swan, boss of the Washington faction of Daemons, is half Angel. They say she descends from the Gods herself, and she makes no move to deny it. She is feared, she is respected, and as many see it, she is the future. But she cares not for their dreams of her, and of the future, she only wishes to kill the Gods, bring them to their knees screaming for mercy, so that when she rips their heads off, she might feel the ultimate satisfaction. And tonight, tonight she would have her revenge upon the Gods. Revenge was a fool's game, Daemons everywhere knew it, she knew it; but she _would_ have her revenge. "The Volturi will die soon, Michael, by my hand or yours, the gods will fall." He regarded her with fear, with that same awe, and nods in response. And then she leaves him, to make her own preparations.

* * *

**Meeeeh, so waddya think? Is it worth it, is it crazy? Of course it is... crazy, I mean. So to clear things up if you can't already tell: Angels are vampires, Daemons are humans, Priests are the Volturi guard, and the Gods are the Volturi kings themselves! ^^ I thought it might be fun to do some sorta post-apocalyptic world, where humans and vampires fight each other fer survival. But still, is it worth it? Do we like this Bella? Can we guess how she's gonna meet her girlie-girl?**

**Does anyone care? Tell me whatcha think, if ya please! ^^ There's the button... right there, just below... look at it, it calls to you, doesn't it?**


	2. Chapter 2

**For once... I actually have an ending in mind... So that makes my job easier, since I usually just get an idea, and go with it, and then get stuck half way through, because I can't think of an ending, and everyone else fails at providing me with help. Oh, and remember how oddly written the 1st chapter was? Yeah, that was weird, and I don't even know where that came from... so fuck that style, I like this one, thanks.**

**Oh, and right now I look like a sexy librarian, cuz I borrowed my momma's readin' glasses to do some work! ^^ Oh yeah, and I just 'membered... my mother just helped me come up with a way to write ch 11 of TGC'R'! So fuck all you people that left me hangin'!... 'Cept my sweet girl, cuz she's my honey bunch and I could never really be angry at her, she's too cute! Damn my weakness to cute things, CURSE YOU! OH FUCK, so last night I had this weird dream 'bout this mother fucker with a creepy ghost friend that was gonna kill me, I think, but I was genuinely nice to this dude, so he didn't want me dead and... I'll stop now, cuz it just starts getting weird after that.**

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Cigarettes were a hot commodity, to have one was unheard of, not appalling in that sense, but simply so rare it was just... completely unheard of. Bella, though, had them hidden. Her secret stash, she only ever broke it out for important times; and on her best of days, in her best of moods, she would even share, with a smile on her face and a friendly twinkle in her eyes. Now, though, she reclined upon her cot, eyes shut, cigarette between her lips, the tip lit and smoke lazily curling up into the air vent she had reversed the flow of herself, so that it removed the smoke from her room. She didn't need to breath, not as much as the rest of them, much like she didn't need to eat and sleep and rest as much as rest of them; and she needn't fear health hazards of inhaling the poisonous fumes from the stick of pure vile human production between her lips - it was one reason why she didn't bother being careful with the tall stack of ashes on top of the stick, how hot they were as even a slight twitch of her lips brought the ash tumbling down on her cheeks, her lips, none of it bothered her as much as it could, as much as it should.

And were it not for her bastard of a father, she supposed this would hurt more, that she would be sick from lack of oxygen and surplus of smoke choking her lungs - were it not for her bastard of a father, she might very well be dead right now, and should she be thankful for that? She couldn't really say, whatever the case may have been, at the very end of the day, it was safe to say that she hated him, that vile bastard, she hated him with every fiber of her being. They sung with the hatred she felt, it brought the energy to her muscles, the breath she breathed in, the pumps of her heart - every action, as far as she was concerned, was fueled not by instinct of the unexplainable magic (whatever it might be...) that was the inner workings of the body, but instead by the hatred that her very soul vibrated with. That bastard had brought her life... and had destroyed every single good thing about it, in one fell swoop.

Eyes screwed shut, she inhaled harshly from the lit cigarette, and when even _she_ began to feel an almost painful, terribly uncomfortable burn in her throat, she cut off the breath, waiting a few good seconds, all the while relishing in the sweet pain it brought her - she did not feel often, and feeling... feeling was good, it was very good, it let her know that she was alive, that this life was _real_ - before she let the breath out through her nostrils. The exhale hit the ashes that had begun to build, knocking them down upon her lips and chin, and she allowed her eyes to open, watching the smoke twist up and away from the lit end of her cigarette. Her eyes were half lidded, and the smallest smiled twisted her lips up just slightly - she was a picture of contentment, or, as content as _she_ could ever really be. Sitting up slowly, fingering the cigarette and finally pulling it away from her lips after a few moments of consideration, she sucked in her first breath of air without the cigarette in the last five minutes. Hitting her raw throat now, it felt cool and soothing, as though she had swallowed a whole cube of ice and felt it melting all the way down her esophagus.

It felt good, it made her shiver, it brought her mind back to the task at hand - she must prepare. She dropped the cigarette, what was left of it, to the floor, stepping on it and grinding it out with the toe of her boot. She stripped herself of the white tank top she wore now, toeing off the boots and pulling the black cargo pants from her hips to kick off her legs and across the room. She turned, reaching under her pillow to grab the almost empty pack of cigarettes that sat there, protected from all others (anyone foolish enough to enter her room, unannounced, and start fiddling around, without permission, in her cot was sure to die), and nude as she was, she picked up her Flame Cannon (as she named her favorite flame gun), and pressed the trigger for less than half a second. The flame shot up tall in even the miniscule amount of time she allowed it to, lighting her cigarette effectively, so she tossed the gun back on her flame proofed sheets and strode to the other side of her room, pressing the compartment on the wall that opened up her attached bathroom (there _were_ a few perks to being the boss, after all), and stepped inside the sterile, white space.

After the steel gray of the rest of the place, and especially of her own room/ceiling, the white of the bathroom was almost blinding, but she bore it all with a blank expression, belying the grimace that wished to tug at her lips as her eyes narrowed just slightly against the visual assault. She smelled of smoke and cinders, and though her Silencer suit, tucked away into her closet, was still safe to wear and would block out her scent like it always did, like it always had, she still felt some sort of nervousness, some sense of the need to do something - ANYTHING - that might calm her nerves. This involved a thorough smoking, and a nice shower. And by nice, she did, of course, mean _cold_. Hot showers were perhaps even more rare than cigarettes, but she hardly cared about that, the day she could get a hot shower to herself that didn't turn scalding in a second or cold enough to nearly freeze her damn nipples off, was the day she opened up every single secret pack of cigarettes she held in her possession and went gallivanting around the base, naked as a damn loon, singing old folk songs and tossing cigarettes to her comrades. In other words, it would never happen.

She could hold her breath for it, but even she would run out of air before it would ever happen. Walking, nude, over to the open shower, she quickly twisted the nob to halfway between hot and cold, holding her hand out under the spray that started up. It was cold, but not unbearably so - not that there was really any setting _too_ cold for her - so she just tossed her still burning cigarette into the toilet and stepped underneath the spray, allowing a shiver to run through her body once, nipples tightening at the sudden change as she let out a breath, the puff of smoke she'd held in her lungs fluttering out and dying quickly. Despite it all, she didn't step out of the shower soon after, no, she chose to stand there, head bowed and hands planted firmly against the cool tile wall of the shower, cool water soaking through her thick locks of dark hair and running down her back as she closed her eyes and allowed herself the chance to relax.

She didn't usually allow herself this chance, she was, after all, a wanted criminal and head of an organization of humans - humans, so easy to die, humans, so quick to jump at the chance to live, humans... her only chance to get back at her father. Eyes opening, slowly, she blinked the water from the dark orbs and tilted her head back, eyeing the white ceiling as the water hit her cheeks, and upon tilting her head back just so, it hit her chin, running down her jaw and neck, chest and legs, and finally began its lazy spin around the drain. Blinking half lidded eyes open, she stepped back, so the water was running down her abdomen and legs, and turned, grabbing for the scent nullifying shampoo she'd made a necessity for her people - she took a moment to muse over that thought; _her people_, and they were hers, weren't they? - if they were to belong to her faction; they were to smell of death, or nothing at all, because a strong scent would and could cling to their Silencers, and any scent other than death, or nothingness, would alert the Angels to their presence, and then, well, it certainly would make it harder to sneak up on the bastards.

Only halfway through scrubbing the sweat and daily grim from her thick mane, she tensed up suddenly, and not from any sudden spot of warmth or chill that permeated her skin, slinking beneath the layers of tissue and seeping into her bones - it was nothing to do with temperature, but more to do with an instinct, a sense that was strong and alive in her mind and body; it was the innate sense that someone was here, someone who should not be, someone that did not have the right to be here. Someone was trespassing within her space, and she was not happy about that at all. She leaned back, the suds still running down her back and face, and glanced into her room through the still open doorway of her bathroom, her eyes narrowed. In a moment, she blinked and leaned forward again, allowing the water to thoroughly wash away the scentless soap. As she had stared into her room, seconds before, a blonde head had appeared all smiles and flirtatious looks - a very familiar blonde head with very familiar smiles and flirtatious looks. The slide of clothing being taken off drew her eyes, which had closed to allow the soap to run its course from her head to the drain without getting into her eyes, open and sliding to the side.

"Can I help you, miss?" she drawled, tilting her head back and to the side, regarding Rosalie through narrowed eyes.

"Mmmhmm, I think you can," she was in the process of pulling her own cargo pants down her long, toned legs, though they were a dark forest green compared to Bella's own black. "I'm preparing for my last bout on the battle field, and I think I'd like to go out with a bang." This was all accompanied, of course, with a smirk and a wink. The meaning was not lost on Bella, and she would honestly have been shocked had it been lost on anyone. It would be something far beyond stupidity that must possess a person for the meaning of the insinuation to be lost on anyone. She reached forward, and without looking, quickly shut off the flow of water. Reaching up, she wrung the water from her hair with both hands, twisting a few times so she could fully remove drops of water holding her hair down flat against her skull. Rosalie watched the rise and fall of Bella's breasts with each breath she took, each twist of her hands that brought her chest thrusting further towards the blonde - who, at this point, was unashamedly licking her lips as she hungrily eyed Bella's hardened nipples - and hardly bothered to even glance up at Bella's eyes, even when the commander cleared her throat.

"And how, exactly, are you so sure this is to be your last bout of battle?" Bella asked as she strolled past the blonde, hardly sparing her a glance when it became quite apparent that she would be getting little respect now that she was nude and the blonde was hungry for some action.

"Well, little miss with the yummy tush, I know it'll be my last because I'm going to be facing Gods!" she laughed as she slapped Bella's ass, and despite how it made the shorter brunette jump just slightly, she didn't make a single sound - not even a yelp - and instead just glared over her shoulder at the still unabashed hungry look she was receiving from her second in command.

"That doesn't mean you'll not survive, I'll be there, after all," Bella pointed out as she continued on into her room, stepping over to her closet, the panel sliding open much like the others had. The closet was not a very wide space, but tall, with a high ceiling and a metal rack about eight feet off the ground - which her Silencer's hung from -, rising from the floor to just a few inches below Bella's shoulders was a small dresser that held Bella's regular clothing. From this dresser, which opened only through a code she pushed into the small touch screen panel on top of the thin metal box, Bella drew a pair of black, drawstring pajama bottoms. As she slid the drawer shut, she ran her fingers across the seamless space between each drawer, pressing against the small button that opened up her medical drawer, and from this she drew out a roll of wrap. Undergarments were a luxury many couldn't afford, one of the luxuries she didn't bother herself trying to obtain - sexy lingerie was certainly not as valuable to her, or any on her team, as much as cigarettes were - so she went without it, and instead chose to wrap her chest and... well, she felt as comfortable in her pants as she felt out of them, to say the least.

"There are _soooo_ many other, BETTER, places you could; your cot, for instance, or mine... naked, in mine... between my legs, on top of me, under me... Just... so many places..." Rosalie trailed off as her eyes roved around, landing finally on Bella as she turned around, the wrap in her hands, as she was peeling off one layer. She held a bit of it against her side, and then just stared at the roll still in her hands, trying to figure through a way that she could do this the easiest. She'd done it countless times before, yes, but it was still a challenge every time she did it. Glancing up at Rosalie, she raised one brow at the expectant look the blonde was giving her, and then sharply jerked her chin in a 'get over here' motion. Rosalie happily complied, nearly skipping over, and stopped in front of the brunette with a smirk on her face, her usual, confidence oozing, 'I'm about to sex you up' smirk she was so famous for. Bella did not react.

"Hold this here, will you?" She nodded towards the bit of wrap she was holding just under her arm, and lifted her arm slightly so the blonde could do just that. Rosalie pouted, sticking her bottom lip out, but at Bella's continued raised 'get on with it' brow, the blonde woman could only sigh and do as her commander wished, glancing away and grumbling about 'twat swatting brunette's...' or some other odd nonsense Bella didn't bother to pay enough attention to, to even respond with an ego crumbling retort. "Much obliged..." Bella murmured as she began wrapping her chest, and soon found that Rosalie's help was unnecessary. Rosalie withdrew her hand hesitantly, still eyeing the slowly disappearing sight of the beautiful breasts of her boss. Oh, what she wouldn't give if the damn hard ass would relax and let her _in_ for just _one _night.

"You know, if I die tonight, and you live, I'm definitely haunting you forever. And every time you try to rub one out to my memory, I'm going to be giving you such a creeper stare that you just won't be able to finish yourself off, and then, what the fuck are you going to do then, huh?" Hands on her hips, smirk in place, though this was more of her usual 'I'm amazing and you should bow down at my feet' smirk that she was infamous for. It wasn't that she was cocky, she just happened to be confidant, and she knew what she wanted, and as was made very obvious by the fact that she was still naked from the waist down, what she wanted was to ride her Boss until she couldn't feel her clit anymore. Was that so much to ask for? She certainly didn't think so.

"I'm sure I'll find a way to survive," Bella sighed as she rolled her eyes and turned away from Rosalie, returning the wrap to her drawer and, holding the wrap closed, she withdrew a small bit of medical tape. She unrolled it slightly with one hand, and bit off a piece using her, for once, conveniently sharp teeth, and then used the bit of tape to tape her wrappings shut. As she returned the tape back to the drawer, she turned around, and with a scowl, she finished her earlier statement. "I always do." It was bitter, no sort of joy could be derived from her admittance - one might believe that she hardly found her ability to survive a _good_ quality, and honestly, she didn't. What use was there in always living, when those around you would always die?

"And how is that reason to not indulge me _my_ pleasures? You just aren't being fair," Rosalie argued, before a knock at the door brought their attention to the thin metal sheet - which was surprisingly sturdy, despite how little there was of it.

"Yes?" Bella called as she looked down at her chest, making sure one last time that all was well and good and right with her wrappings. She didn't want to have some sort of accidental flashing for her guest, after all, especially if her guest was but another calling on her for sexual favors.

"Boss, I was just wondering if you might-" The girl broke off suddenly as the door slide open and she found Rosalie standing there, just behind and to the left of Bella, her arms crossed - and of course, nude from the waist down. A blush spread like fire across her face and she suddenly focused on Bella... only to find the serious woman, serious faced as always, but in a state of undress quite similar to Rosalie's. "Oh! I-I hadn't realized another had claimed you already! My apologies. Miss Hale, Commander Swan, good hunting." The girl bowed her head respectfully to the irked blonde and blank faced brunette, murmuring the usual 'good luck' phrase adopted for times like this, when a life-or-death attack was about to take place.

"And good bye," Rosalie waved at the girl with a sickeningly sweet smile, which was made quite evil with the glare that she was giving the girl. The younger female quickly left then, head hung low and heart breaking in her chest as she lost, what she felt, was the very last chance she might have had of courting the commander. "Honestly, what is with all these people trying to get in your pants?" She draped an arm across Bella's shoulders, pressing close to the brunette, who only frowned and looked over at the hand dangling dangerously close to one wrapped breast.

"Excuse me? Are you blind?" Bella tilted her head back to give Rosalie a light glare, swatting at the hand that was beginning to creep too close to one covered nipple.

"No, but you obviously are!" Rosalie huffed as she withdrew from the brunette, crossing her arms and pouting heavily at her. "I'm nearly naked, and I just wanna sex you up, and I could get on my knees and _beg_-" She didn't say the word, so much as moan it, "-For you, but you just brush me off! I mean, come on, you have needs, I'm here, I'm hot, just fuck me!" Sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose, she slowly shook her head.

"You know what, you're right. Fuck you, get out of my room," Rosalie gasped, half in shock, half for dramatic effect, and then noticed how Bella _wasn't_ kidding.

"Hey, come on, Boss, I was just-"

"Get. Out," Bella glared at her, and Rosalie flinched, frowning and pouting, but when it did nothing for the ever grim-faced brunette, she just sighed, made her way into the bathroom to pull on her pants, and left. As the door slid shut, Bella never blinking until she was sure that she was completely alone, she slowly stepped backwards until the backs of her knees hit her cot, and then she sat down on it heavily, reaching under her pillow for the cigarettes. She growled lowly in frustration when she found that the pack was gone, and only a single cigarette remained, and despite herself and the rapidly building annoyance beginning to burn through her veins, she smiled. "The bitch tricked me." she chuckled as she reclined back on the cot, shifting on her side for a moment so she could grab for her flame gun from underneath her. She lit the cigarette, set the gun next to her hip, and, putting her hands behind her head, she stared up at the ceiling in quiet contemplation, with only the occasional sigh or heavy exhalation of breath to break the silence.

* * *

"Alright troops, tonight you're going to show me what you're made of," Bella growled out in the best gravely tone she could as she marched, hands clasped behind her back, in front of the team of twelve Daemons that would be accompanying her on this mission - as far as she knew, one of the last ones she or any of them would be going on. Yes, she was confidant in her own abilities; indeed, she was confidant in the abilities of her own hand-picked special tactics team - the fact of the matter was that she knew their limitations, and she knew her own limitations, and she knew that the Priests were the strongest Angels that any of them would be facing since she'd first built this faction up from the underground - she wasn't such an idiot to think that every single one of them would make it out this alive, never mind in one piece. "Tyler, show me what you've got for us."

The dark skinned man nodded, his usual, easy going grin gone, replaced with an expression rivaling the Boss's in its grimness. It was impressive, it was strange, it was something she observed and inwardly marveled at, but she kept her thoughts and observations to herself, content to wait for him to move to the back of the room where a large table, with many _somethings_ covered by cream colored sheets, held the newest _toys_ they would have the pleasure to test out on the Priests. Tyler was part of her team for his ability with weapons, and with technology in general; although he was seen as more of a practical joker than anything, the man was a genius with tools, and he had personally crafted the flame guns - which differed vastly from regular, older devices that would spit flames in that it was much smaller, much faster in delivering a fiery punch, and the punch held a lot more power than previous models could pack.

"These are not something to take lightly," Tyler warned as he grabbed the material, pulling it off with something akin to an exaggerated flourish - he couldn't resist it, even in this moment of seriousness. On the table top were what appeared to be flame guns, but much, _much_ larger. At least a foot and a half in length, about six inches tall, the impressive device was a monster of flaming glory, and emblazoned on the side of a long cylindrical tube attached to the hollow steel rod that thinned as it lead up to the nozzle was a single word in some odd sort of lilting script: _Flamas._ "Ten times as powerful as flame guns; burns hotter, longer. There are a few drawbacks, I couldn't quite perfect the internal cooling unit, so you don't want to use this one too much, otherwise it'll melt away the combust chamber, which will, obviously, cause an explosion of massive proportions and kill us all. But it's lightweight - don't let the size fool you! - and just as fast as the flame gun."

"My, my! That's quite the weapon you've got for us, any malfunctions we should watch out for?" Rosalie questioned as she leaned back slightly, tossing her arms behind her chair, suddenly the picture of perfectly controlled calm. It brought a small, almost unnoticeable smile to Bella's face to see it - it was such a drastic change from only hours before, it was almost hilarious.

"Don't try for short, machine gun bouts of fire, that'll cause it to catch and backfire, literally. Basically, you'll fuck up my mechanics," Tyler told them all with a smile, which gained him only a snort and roll of the eyes from Rosalie, while the rest grinned in response. It had been a widespread belief that trying for the quick, machine gun type of blasts would conserve fuel (which was much needed) while also taking out a wider range of Angels, and this _did_ work, in the right hands of course - in the wrong hands, it had led to enough deaths that a rigorous training effort had sprung up to stop any hopefuls from trying to be a hero. "Now, I've got a release switch here for the _Flamas_, so if you find yourself stuck with no hope of survival, flip it, drop the fucker, and say your last good byes, because as soon as it hits the ground it'll explode with a fiery fury that's sure to take out at least a half-mile radius. Any more questions?"

"Is there a timer switch on this?" Bella asked, crossing over to the back table. She tentatively reached for a gun, stopping just before her fingertips came into contact with the cool metal so she could glance at Tyler for confirmation that it was okay for her to play with one of his toys first. He nodded and she smiled slightly back, picking up a gun and tossing it from one hand to the other experimentally - it really _was_ rather light weight! - and then turning it over so she could eye the release switch. It was pretty straight forward, not labeled, but rather obvious just from looking at it the initial purpose.

"I'm sorry?" Tyler blinked, taking a step closer to inspect his creation along with the Boss.

"A timer switch," she repeated as she turned to him. "Were I to, say, release the _Flamas_, and pull it out myself, how long would I have to hold it in my own hands before it all went to shit?"

"Why would you want to?" Tyler drew back with a shocked look on his face and Bella fixed him with a blank stare. "I-I guess you might have... maybe ten seconds. _Maybe_." Bella nodded once and handed him the weapon as she strode back to stand in front of her comrades.

"Alright then, anything else to add, question, concerns, etcetera?" She glanced around warily, but upon finding none of them looking overly worried or curious - she did ignore how Rosalie was pouting at her - she nodded to herself and turned on her heel to begin pacing in front of them. "We're going in soft and slow, stay low, stay hidden. Rosalie, I want you taking Mark, James, and Benjamin - you're coming up from the south, stick to the passages - you're setting fire to their asses, you got me?" She received firm nods, and nodded in return. "Tyler, I want you taking Victoria, Paul, and Allen - you're circling around and heading from the northeast, you'll have to leave five minutes ago and I want you taking to the streets, but you stick to the alleys and make damn sure you smell of death - you'll be the first line, distraction and offensive team." More nods, she turned to the final four then, especially grim faced. "Doctor, I want you to stay out of this-"

"Ma'am, that's hardly-"

"Don't you question me, Cullen!" Bella barked, interrupting the handsome blonde before he could put up much of a fight. "You're an integral part of our base of operations and we can't afford to lose you! You'll be staying with Eric, covering the surveillance. Platt, you and Uley are going to be middle plain, providing cover fire." When the soft-hearted young woman hardened her expression to match the grimness of the Boss and nodded along with the already grim faced young man beside her, Bella allowed herself a small smile, void of warmth or mirth. "Good. Rose, you're team is taking standards and bombs. Tyler, take your damn rifles and show me what you're good for. Platt, you and Uley are getting some retro rifles, some standards, and as many bombs as we can spare."

"And you, _Boss_?" Rosalie drawled as she stood, holding her Silencer helmet before her face, studying her reflection. "Where are you stationed?"

"Top side, and I'll be taking a rifle for myself; any more questions?" She once more swung her head around to take in her troops, a warm feeling of pride surging up at seeing them all before her. They were ready, she was ready - this was about to happen. _Finally._ "Tyler, take your weapons and get going - we've got less than ten minutes, people, MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!" she barked at them all, and they jumped into action. Rosalie slowly strolled over while the others began scrambling for the weapons on the walls - they had assembled in Tyler's workshop - and took a long moment to cast her gaze over the faces of the rest of the team.

"I hope you know what you're doing," she muttered at the brunette, who only smiled in return.

"I hope so too," And then she fixed her helmet on, turning to face her second in command. "Good hunting."

"Sweet death," Rosalie smiled in return, before fixing her own helmet on. Ignoring the sound of the mechanical chuckling from Bella, she walked over to her small group and began discussing their own plan. Behind her helmet, she allowed herself to smile at them, every single one, with pride and affection. It had been a long eight years, and she would be a fool to hope that this would end the struggle, but she knew this would be a big step in the right direction. For now, that was all that she really needed.

* * *

**Don't worry, things pick up next chapter ^^ We get to meet Jasper then, yaaay! Ohhh, the plans I've made *evil chuckle* And I've got work... a shit load of it... fuck my life. I might start writing ch 11 of TGC'R' next week, though, so I'm sure it'll be out... eventually! And I'm super glad the neighbors didn't see me having a fit over here dancing earlier. It's not that it would have been embarrassing, just that they would have thought I was having a seizure or something... I'm a terrible dancer, but it's so much fuuuun! **

**And I'm super sorry for mistakes, but I think I type too fast for my computer to register, because I'll be typing fast as fuck... and it'll only get half my words down, and the words are mixed together. Sooo... hey! Favs are nice, BUT LOOK AT THAT FUCKING REVIEW BUTTON! Isn't it pretty? Yeah, and you don't even have to log in because I'm not picky, just a review whore... whores need love too! LOVE ME!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I've really changed the vamps for my story, just a warning. Transformation, vampire nature, law, abilities, etc. For give mistakes!**

* * *

Rosalie's eyes opened at the same time that she shot up from the bed - yes, an actual bed, so she knew she was in the base infirmary, as it was the only place that they had this comfort - eyes and hair wild, face flushed and heart beating too fast. She glanced around frantically, and almost immediately, she was rushed by a few nurses - and there came the Doctor, bags under his eyes, a large bandage across his forehead from where the safe house he and Eric had been holed up in was blown up - all yammering away annoyingly, telling her that she should rest, that she was too injured to be moving. She pushed them away, growling and glaring as they tried to hustle her back under the sheets while she simply swung her legs out of the bed and made to stand up - it was her defiant nature flaring up - before a cold hand was on her shoulder, pushing her back, not so that she was lying down, because she would not, but just so that she would remain seated on the edge of the bed. She looked up into tired, dark green eyes, and glared all the harder.

"Where is she?" Rosalie managed, wincing and attempting to swallow a few times when she found her throat raw and screaming with burning pain - probably from that blast of _Flamas_, and the tears started to sting in her eyes when she thought of those that had been lost, but she fought them off viciously and grit her teeth to keep her glare in place. Doctor Cullen didn't answer at first, just blinked slowly and grabbed a glass of water from the metal table that was next to her bed, handing it to her silently. She took it and gave him a brief gracious glance before she focused on the glass and started to sip - slowly, allowing the moisture to seep in - the water. It was lukewarm, but she couldn't give a damn at the moment, as thirsty as she was it might have well been cold, icy, and somehow terribly sweet and delicious as it touched her tongue and she swallowed it down. Setting the glass back down once she had controlled herself enough to drink only half of it (and thankfully, it did become somewhat cooler as she sipped it down, so it couldn't have been more than an hour or so old), she met the Doctor's tired eyes once more and repeated her question. "_Where_ is she?"

He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he let out a slow breath, shaking his head. She tensed, and seemed to nearly vibrate with energy, but he didn't move his damn hand from her shoulder so she couldn't quite just burst up from the bed and start yelling in his face, demanding answers. She took the time to glance around, noting that Paul was in the bed across from her, large hands covered in bandages - and she winced, remembering how he had screamed as the flesh had melted and bubbled and fallen off, the fire having caught him in quite the bad way - much like how his head was wrapped up. She hoped, for his sake, that the fire had not caught his face or hands as badly as she thought it might have, because if he was useless, then the only thing he was good for anymore was bait - it was why children weren't often seen running around, or the elderly, because they were the very best for traps and bait, and not a single person would object to doing what was necessary when it came to survival.

"There's been no word of her since the sighting," Rosalie's whole world froze around her, and the next words were heard, but were muffled and distorted, as if she was hearing them said in slow motion, or backwards. "_She is very likely dead._"

"YOU FIND HER! DO YOU UNDERSTAND? YOU FUCKING FIND HER _NOW!_" She hadn't even had the chance to really think about what he was telling her before she had begun yelling, the words pouring from her mouth without her consent. As quickly as the world around her had frozen, her heart a heavy chip of ice that made her chest and throat ache - or was she simply withholding tears she believed she was incapable of shedding...? - it had shattered, into color and light that hurt her just as much as the still freezing hunk of ice that was lodged in her throat as she considered that maybe she _was_ dead. She literally shook, hands clenched into tight fists as she closed her eyes and shook her head violently. She shot up, stumbled forward and was caught by the Doctor, before they all - Cullen and his pet nurses - attempted to put her back into the bed. "Don't TOUCH me!"

"Commander," The Doctor didn't look away from her eyes as she spoke, and that hurt most of all. And she knew that he had something to say, something of importance, but she wouldn't let him get away with that, knowingly injuring her like he just had - it was a slap to the face, spit in the eye, pissing on the grave of her mother - was unacceptable, and she would make sure he knew that.

_SLAP!_

"Don't call me that, _ever_, you hear me, Cullen? I swear I'll..." Hands shaking uncontrollably, she closed her eyes, grit her teeth, and let out a slow breath. "What's the damage report?" She asked tiredly, lowly, the calmest she'd been since waking.

"Paul is damaged and... it doesn't look good..." A bitter taste in her mouth, when the thought occurs to her that she'll have to kill him herself or send the lame duck out to get slaughtered so he could be bait. "Uley has a broken collar bone. Eric has a concussion. Mark, Allen, James and Benjamin where lost." It brought back a flash of memories before her eyes, of Angela screaming at her, because she was pointing that gun at Ben's forehead while he screamed and writhed in pain. Angela had revealed that she was with child, and that Ben was the father. But Ben, in her eyes, had no longer been Daemon - he had been well on his way to becoming an Angel, and she would not allow an Angel to enter their base, _ever_ - and so it was that after denying Angela's useless beliefs that Ben could fight the disease and remain Daemon, she had had the Seeker kill him herself. Rosalie felt no remorse for the actions.

"Is that all?"

"It is,"

"May I leave?" Her eyes were hard, and she attempted to make her voice sound much the same, but she could tell she had failed when he gave her a sad smile - it made her scowl, disgusted with herself right now for being so emotional, for overreacting when she should be keeping a cool head - that let her know he wouldn't have the heart to turn her down. Like she even needed his pity

"I must change your bandages first, but after that, you are free to go. Shall I call someone to move your belongings to the Commander's quarters?" She winces, and in the second that it lasts she can acutely feel the pain slicing through her very soul, the pain of losing the most important person to her - and to her supposedly _DEAD _brother, no less - sharp and indomitable. After that second, she closes her heart off, shuts down any part of her mind that dwells on it all, and nods tersely - at some later date, she would probably reflect on how strange and inevitable it was for her to adapt to the Boss's way as quickly as she had been able to - in affirmation. Now, however, she was simply too numb to note the similarities and smile for it. She was too numb to react, or even really realize, that it hurt when he was removing the gauze and pulling off the bandage - the gauze was quite clean, but the bandage was a dried-blood brown, and was stuck quite well to her skin, mostly the wound - to inspect her wound and then reapply a fresh bandage.

There had been more Angels than first believed there would be, not a dozen and a few stragglers, but a _few_ dozen; and besides that despairing factor of being so terribly outnumbered, only a handful of Daemons against a _horde_ of Angels, it appeared that the Angels had somehow gotten word of their impending ambush. At that time, when it had become apparent that trouble was afoot and there was very little hope that the casualties would not be great - if not a total destruction of the team - they had all been so very thankful of Tyler's rifle. They'd fought valiantly - and truthfully, they would not have if it had not been necessary, except that the unexpected numbers hadn't been obvious, but lurking in the shadows to get behind them and block off escape routes - and had taken out a nice chunk of the Angels... but only enough to spare those that they had been able to, and of course, not without losing the most important part of their whole operation.

"Have the details been spread?" Rosalie asked suddenly, vaguely noting that the Doctor was just putting the finishing touches on bandage work. In some small part of her brain, she also noticed, for the very first time since waking, that she was naked - this did not surprise her in the least, what was more surprising was how unbothered she was by it.

"Yes," The Doctor dipped his head slightly in affirmation, and she nodded once in return, some light returning to her eyes as her expression finally shifted from complete neutrality to something of the more thoughtful type.

"How are they taking it?" Again, that sad smile spoke volumes to her as he hesitated, his silence stretching on into more silence until she nodded slowly, eyes glazing over slightly as she became more immersed in her thoughts. Paul groaning and shifting in his bed, brought her, blinking, back into the present; she glanced over at him, studying him for a few moments with a slight frown as she listened to his pained whimpers. When she glanced back at the Doctor, he was staring, unblinkingly, at the now-crippled man - once more, she grew thoughtful, and after a few moments of watching how the Doctor struggled not to leave her and rush to the other patient - she was Commander now, after all, she was to be showed the utmost respect, and it would be disrespectful to leave without being officially dismissed first - she called to him softly. "Carlisle?" His head jerked towards her, and it was with some effort, she saw, that he finally turned his eyes to hers.

He looked slightly startled, mostly distracted, and somewhat nervous. "Ma'am?"

"Tend to Paul; give him something to sleep for a bit," She smiled gently at him, inclining her head in Paul's direction without turning her gaze from his as a hesitant smile tugged at his lips. "After that, gather what's left of the team and meet me in my new quarters."

"Yes ma'am." His brief smile slipped from his face as he nodded once, and she nodded in return.

"Dismissed," she sighed with a flick of one wrist, waving them off towards Paul, as she rubbed her forehead with her other hand. She stood up, pulling the sheets with her to wrap around her nude form and offer some sort of protection against the chill in the air as she made for the door, and then stopped suddenly to turn on her heel. "And Doctor?" He glanced back, brows raised and looking expectant.

"Yes?"

"Do make sure to bring Lauren with you, and I want the details of this past mission - transmissions before we lost contact, videos, and a god damn explanation - is that understood?" She smiled brightly, charmingly, and so very unsettlingly. He swallowed once, and nodded, turning his eyes from hers and back to Paul, murmuring to him comfortingly.

"Here now Paul, take this - now, no arguing! You can't go to the boss's meeting distracted by pain! - you'll feel so much better in a bit..." Rosalie grimaced at the soft tone, and the clink of a glass bottle - the favored pain _killer_ of the medics - against the metal of a spoon. She paused for it then, that short silence that followed, and waited, bowing her head respectfully.

"Rest, comrade," she sighed when she heard the rustle of sheets being pulled over a body. "And be thankful, that it was a gentle death." She would not be afforded that comfort, so many before had not, but she could not begrudge him his entrance into freedom, not when the price was the life she refused to give up on. Not yet. Not until she found Bella. Because she was sure - she just _knew_, she could feel it - that Bella was alive and waiting for her somewhere.

* * *

Her dark eyes were black as pitch as she glared, unblinkingly up into eyes the colour of death - they shone with some unearthly, sick glee; they gleamed and sparked with interest as she drew her lips back from her teeth and snarled viciously. Hissing and spitting, fighting against the hold they had on her arms - they'd dislocated her shoulders with no hesitation hardly an hour ago, once she'd proven difficult - by turning and trying to snap at them, and then kicking their legs as hard as she could when that proved futile, she made herself out a mad woman. But those eyes, as she turned her own hate filled gaze back, never stopped dancing with mirth and glee, with interest and sick pleasure - they were amused, they thought she was nothing, weak and harmless - that set her off into another fit of insanity.

"WHERE IS MY FATHER!" she drew back her head and roared, chest heaving and pupils - hardly visible in those dark, dark eyes, but to eyes that could see as her own - dilated as she began to feeling the creeping of wild emotion. She felt animalistic with anger, ready to tear things apart, with her teeth and hands. Her chest began to vibrate with a low, heavy rumbling - she was growling, growling like she never had before, growling like she hadn't realized she was capable of - that began to shake the whole of her body as her fury increased. Only a chuckled answered her, and it sent her tugging and snarling, snapping and spitting at anything that went near here - another laughed and stepped closer, and at the potential threat, she reared back, kicking one leg up sharply and snapping the unsuspecting head back on its neck with a sickening _crack._

"Restrain her, why don't you!" The man on the throne leaned forward, a displeased frown twisting his features. He was, in a word, beautiful - marble skin, strong jaw, hair the shone like polished bronze; the only thing that revealed him for the monster he was were the eyes in his head, they were evil - but she knew better than to trust that, than to trust him, despite his easy and charming smile. "Now, dear, whatever seems to irritate you?" His smile was sick, after the vicious slap she'd just received, the one that had snapped her head to the side painfully, the one that had just now burst her lip open and made very possible broke her nose. In any case, pained tears clouded her eyes, while blood streamed from her nose and gathering on her tongue, making her sneer in disgust. As he stepped closer, reaching out to grab her chin and tilt her head this way and that, she reared her head back suddenly - he didn't move, but they all did tense - and spit in his face.

"FUCK YOU! Where is my _father_?" He could hardly understand her, so intermixed where the growls in her speech. She sounded little more than a snarling beast, and her scoffed at her, snorting and rolling his eyes as he turned away. What filth; she was deranged! How disgusting, this half-breed. He wiped at the bloody spittle on his cheek, studying it with a frown before the smell got to him and his tongue flicked out for a curious taste. He blinked a few times, and then smiled back at her as he wiped his hand on his robe.

"My, but don't you taste good!" A snarl, a gnashing of teeth in front of his face. "Who would have thought, that man being yours, and you being his, that you might taste so very delicious?" His smile twisted into a gleeful smirk as he fully turned towards her, stepping closer and grabbing her chin, squeezing harshly for good measure, to make sure that - this time around - she wouldn't, _couldn't_, go about spitting in his face as she just had. It was a mistake that she _would _pay for, but not now, not here; not when he had guests, as he did now. You never beat a dog in public, after all - it ruins the mood.

"YOU DIRTY PIECE OF F-" He slapped her soundly across the cheek, so quickly, and as hard as he could; he curled his fingers slightly, too, so that his nails might tear into her, rip the flesh from her cheeks - it was a warning as much as anything, that she was to be silent and behaved, or he would hurt her, really and truly hurt her - and the blood welled up, the room took a collective sniff and leaned closer, salivating and eyes bright as they focused on the exchange.

"You've got quite the sharp tongue, I see. You really are his daughter aren't you?" He threw his head back and laughed, turning to make his way back to the throne. Behind it were two other thrones, achingly empty and covering in a very fine layer of dust - she caught sight of this, and for a moment, the blood in her veins froze.

"Where are they?" she asked lowly, the calmest she'd been since getting here. She ignored the sad glances she could feel from the man holding her right arm - _TRAITOR! WORTHLESS, TRUSTLESS TRAITOR!_ - and the low chuckles from those around her, amused by her question. Instead, she found herself seeking out the eyes of one person, one small, blonde person, the only person she could imagine would meet her gaze and look grim, look even remotely unhappy by the question she posed to her captor. She found those eyes, and indeed, they were grim and bleak, indeed they shone with such deep unhappiness and hatred that she felt her heart ache for those sad, sad eyes. Those eyes, however, felt nothing for her but the very hatred that shone in the maroon depths, and she accepted this with a solemn nod and neutral expression, turning emotionless dark orbs back to the king, sitting with a curiously miffed expression, on his throne.

"Those foolish old men? Why, I killed them!" Now she snarled once more, and began to resist the hold on her arms - it was easy enough to ignore the searing pain tearing through her shoulder blades, after all - as she made to jump at her; her eyes, which had been leaning more towards a dark brown as she finally began to calm down, quickly darkened into the deep-recesses-of-space sort of blackness, so very possible of sucking the life out of any soul that gazed into them for too long. She was beyond insults or yells, screeches or screams; she was no longer capable of making the sounds, all that she could do was roar and growl, thundering, glass shattering sounds that nearly stole the strength from the grips on her - and whether that be out of fear at what she could, _and would_, do, or out of respect for the sheer animosity that she seemed capable of (predators had sense for their kind) - immobile arms. She would kill him, in that second, if she could have.

"Could someone beat the dog for me? She _is_ such a nuisance," He looked impassively at his nails as someone growled with pleasure, flashing over to her to begin beating her around. After a few wet smacks of hard flesh against the soft, pliable body of the half-Daemon held between two Angels - a grunt never escaped her, no scream or cry of pain, and that was not very pleasing to the ears, simply the sound of her beating - the king sighed boredly and sat back in his throne, watching curiously as the woman grit her teeth against the pain. Why even try, why be so stubborn, didn't she realize it would be quicker if she weren't so proud? They were quite strong after all. He let his eyes drift shut and allowed his mind to overflow with the thoughts of his cohorts, smiling to hear them.

_Smells... So good...!_

_FUCK HER! TEAR INTO HER! MAKE HER SCREAM!_

_... I would taste that skin; I'd sink my teeth into-_

_Kill her, kill her, snap her neck, rip her head off!_

_... What have we become?_

He frowned, eyes snapping open and head whipping to the right. His eyes narrowed on the slight form of the figure under the dark, dark grey robe - they tensed, realizing they were being watched and whom was watching them, and understood that their thoughts had been heard -; they turned, bolding raising their head, and despite the deep shadows that kept the face formless and sexless, the gleam of passionate, defiant eyes and the hard set of their mouth gave them away. Senseless woman; too dramatic for his tastes, really. But she was useful, and perhaps... The thought occurred to him, and his hard gaze lifted the weight from her shoulders, turned her frown into a worried, confused stare as he smiled at her.

"That's enough!" He called suddenly, the fist surged forward into the woman's stomach stopping suddenly. Her ragged breaths filled the chamber in the sudden silence - they had been enjoying the splattering spray of blood as it spread across the ornate carpet, its sweet scent filling the air and leaving the observers with a sense of what it felt to be quite inebriated -, all too loud and unpleasant. "Take her to the dungeons, and leave her for the night with no food or water. We'll deal with her in the morning."

"Yes, your Divinity," The reply rose as one from his minions as they bowed their heads briefly - he took note of the teeth that shone in secret smiles, and made a mental note to have them personally interrogate the girl first - before straightening out and all but dragging her from the room. Once he'd laughed off the suddenly tense, silent air, and waved to his guests to continue the party - a gathering of his favored Angels; in the center of the ornate room was a fountain of blood, on the walls hung fresh corpses, innards dangling and blood dripping into chalices and small goblets - as he eyed the figure in the robe.

"Alice," he called softly, and one pale hand raised, to rub at a nose irritated by the scent of so much blood, froze at the calling of her name. She turned slightly, and the light shone into her hood at the new angle, striking the porcelain skin and setting half of her face into view. She was unhappy, and he gathered - both from her thoughts and the look in her eyes - that she was afraid. Nonetheless, she stepped, hesitantly, closer and closer to his throne until she stood next to it, back and shoulders stiff and eyes unblinking as they met his. "Would you be so kind as to see to _her_ tomorrow, after the men are through with her? Look into her future, if you would; I'd like to see what's to come of her before I go getting too attached..." Her eyes widened but a fraction, and then she dipped her head, eyes closing and thoughts stopping abruptly as she withdrew from herself.

"Yes, your Divinity," she murmured respectfully, tone strangely absent of the usual bitter bite he was so very used to.

"Good girl."

* * *

**Soo, I said I'd introduce Jazzie... but that didn't happen. i kept trying to decide how to do this, with the beginning being their epic fail of a fight (Jazzie would be introduced), Rosalie dragging Ben into the base and then having Angie kill him (Jazzie would be mentioned), or Bella chained to the walls in the dungeon getting tortured and uh... well, ya know, raped. I decided on this, and I will touch on all of those other things later.**

**But yeah, Rosalie forced Angela to kill poor Ben, and Paul was killed too. Wah wah, such is life. It gets better, later; and by better I mean domestic violence suits cannot be filed in this sort of world, so somebody's gonna get their ass beat! ^^ I won't say who, because people WILL be horrified, and WILL react badly. So, in the interest of saving my own ass, I'll shut up and simply ask for reviews. That's right, REVIEWS, the kind that you REVIEW and leave for me... and they are REVIEWS... because favs aren't REVIEWS... although, I mean, favs are nice too... but REVIEW, please.**


	4. Chapter 4

**I feel satisfied with this chapter. I hope there's less mistakes in it... ~_~ **

* * *

"And how goes the progress, Alec?" The King sipped from a goblet, liquid like wine - much too red, much too thick to be wine, though - sliding past his pale lips and silkily down his throat. It tickled his tongue with flavor and life, brought a lazy, content smile to his face as he glanced over the edge of the glass at the young man in the hood that stood before him, head bowed submissively. The sight of submission, the certainty of his knowledge of the subservience and fear and _respect_ he inspired, was almost as sweet as the blood he currently ingested.

"Slow, your Divinity. She is... resistant," The King's smile slipped, the perfect facade of his cracking to reveal a grim, sinister frown underneath - it was a darkness that none of the Priests would ever wish to face, because they knew very well what the result would be, and it would not be an easy death, the King would make sure of that. The darkness slipped away as he smiled at the young man once more, the smile easy and gentle, but the darkness definitely unmistakable, definitely unavoidable. He couldn't turn his eyes away, couldn't swallow the fear forming a lump in his throat as those dark crimson eyes shone dangerously above the gleaming grin.

"Will this be a problem for you, Alec?" He brought the glass back to his lips, tilting his hand, eyes sliding half-closed as he sipped once more, savoring the taste on his tongue as it danced across his taste buds. They had a store of Daemon in the dungeons - not every Daemon they came across in the fields died right there, many they brought back as livestock - and he had his own personal grouping, of the finest of them all, the ones that smelled the very best, that brought hunger raging through his body. He drunk his fill, and with contentment he sat back and regarded the man before him, allowing the blood to sooth his agitation so he wouldn't overreact. He couldn't help that his unfortunate underlings were incompetent - he could kill them, but... it would be such a pain to replace them all...

"No, your Divinity, I don't believe it will. I... actually wish to allow Felix to oversee the rest of the sessions, if it would please you?" His eyes opening to stare at him unblinkingly, only to narrow in annoyance was clear indication of the King's feelings on the matter.

"And... why would you need Felix to oversee the sessions?" Not that it was too much of a problem, no, the Priest had a good head for torture on his shoulders but he did enjoy playing with his food, and he often lost control and ending up killing toys before the fun could be had; one fuck and he broke them, usually in half. It was a waste, because so many could feast upon a body, but Felix was also selfish, and would continue to rut to his heart's content, until the corpse was quite cool and the body quite foul. Felix, a good choice, but not such a good choice for an operation as delicate as this.

"She... makes me uneasy," It was hard for Alec to admit that, that was very clear. The King had to respect him for the courage admitting that took, but he had to disregard that in face of the fact that one of his Priests, one of his more efficient Priests, had just admitted to feeling fearful of a half-mortal, a bastard creature that shouldn't have ever existed and should still be rid of in the near future... once they had had their fill of her, at least... The King's eyes narrowed, causing the young man to fidget nervously.

"You are afraid..." The King noted, eyes narrowing further, but the Priest's bowed head shot up and he shook it vigorously.

"No, your Divinity!" he quickly denied, fear of the King's reaction flaring up in his still heart.

"This anxious nervousness, this unsettling unease the mere thought of her induces; that is not fear?" The Priest remained silent now; head bowed once more - what could he say when it was so very true? "Why do you fear her?"

"She... smells of death, you Divinity," the Priest replied after a moment; the King chuckled humorlessly, leaning forward to eye the Priest.

"Many Daemons smell of the dead," He was smirking as he spoke, waiting for the presumably inadequate response.

"No, your Divinity, she does not smell of the dead, she smells of _death_." What he left unspoken - _she smells of the death of Angels_ - gave the King pause, and a reason to frown darkly. "She smells of fire, and of ash. The more she is tortured, the more she is riled up, the more she smells of it." Thinking back upon it, the King could recall that, though the halfling's blood was seductively delicious, her scent was not appealing as it could have been, as it _should_ have been. Her scent did indeed force him to turn his nose from her - it was repulsive, and on some level he would never _ever_ pay much attention, he, too, was actually rather discomforted by the appalling scent that clung to her. She smelt of death, indeed, of the death of them all. But he would never admit to feeling much the same as the Priest before him. That would be weak, and he was _not_ weak.

"I will allow Felix to take over your duties," the King began slowly, Alec's shoulders sagging in relief.

"Thank you, your Divini-"

"DO NOT thank me," the King sneered in disgust at the joy that emanated from the Priest. "I do not do this for you, spineless poltroon. I do this for Felix, because he has been itching to sink his teeth into the girl. I _should_ have you interrogate her by yourself for your cowardice, but what can I say, I'm feeling merciful." He glared heavily at the Priest, who shook under the gaze. "Now leave my sight, before I get _really_ angry."

"Yes, your Divinity," Alec bowed low, until his head was very nearly lower than his knees. "Shall I inform Felix that he is to report to you?"

"No," Now, the King smiled, and it was just as dark as before, but somehow so much more sickeningly twisted. "Tell him he is to head down to keep our guest company. He shall take the Distress Mistress and Chelsea with him.

"Yes, your Divinity," Alec's head never lifted, not until the King spoke once more, dismissing him with a bored wave as he called to the young female Priest standing just behind his thrown to fetch another glass of his fine 'wine' of choice for the evening.

* * *

The tips of her toes - feet bare, just as the rest of her body was - could almost touch the floor she hung a few inches off of. Long, thick chains, starting at the ceiling, and ending at the manacles shackles around her wrists - thin, pale wrists, that were bloody and purple - kept her swinging above the floor. The chains themselves were far enough apart that, try as she might, there was absolutely no way that she could join her hands. This was intentional, of course, to keep her and her vicious little fingers to herself. Her skin was pale, and though this was partly natural, mostly it was sickly translucent, almost-gray color devoid of life, and of nourishment. And if the state of her skin were not indication enough of her treatment, the way her ribs were beginning to jut out sharply - just as her spine, her ankles, and her bloody wrists were, like knives trying to thrust out through the thin, bruised, scarred skin - certainly was. Her breaths were ragged, and irregular, and her head hung limply from a neck that had not the energy to hold up the feeble weight any longer.

Her naked chest was criss crossed with long scars, many of which were still attempting to heal, but with no food, no water, and no mercy, the chances that this wasn't going to leave a few good number of permanent scars was highly unlikely. Her back was similar to her chest, except that the markings could not be called scars - they were fresh, puckered, an angry throbbing red that smelled thickly of infection. Her long, dirty, dark hair hung in front of her face in straggling strands and thick clumps, darker in some areas where her own blood had soaked through, and light in others were her vomit had. Thick, long lines of dried blood ran down her arms from her wrists - and if one were to look close, they would notice the pink ring of fresh flesh that was around the shackles, where she had struggled and still would struggle against the constraints.

The scent in the air would curl anyone's lip in disgust; it was the foul stench of thick, cloying smoke mixed with feces. It was her.

A whip cracked across her cheek, her limp head snapping to the side with the blow as a thin line of blood splattered across the floor. Her head did not loll back to its original position, the neck suddenly rigid as the body seized up, the movement of her chest freezing as her breath caught.

"Hi doggy!" Felix laughed as he sauntered into the chamber, snapping the whip in the air so any blood left on its surface flew off. Behind him trailed two slight forms in hoods, crimson eyes glowing dimly from the hoods, while slung across one shoulder was a Daemon, a young girl, nude - of course - and barely alive. "Want some breakfast?" He grabbed the Daemon from his shoulder, holding the female up by her neck, hardly five feet from where the halfling hung. Her breath finally rushed out of her in a sort of huff-growl, as her head lifted and glittering dark eyes caught sight of the four forms standing in front of her. It was as if her pupils had expanded to cover the whole of her eye, iris, sclera, _everything._ Her lips pulled back from dangerous, sharp teeth, as she hissed at the approach. Felix smiled warmly at the woman, before tossing the whip back to the smaller Priest behind him, so he could punch a hole through the Daemons back, splattering her blood across the halflings face.

The woman flinched back from it, however, turning her head away so none of the blood could get near her - she bit into her lip, and her own blood burst past her teeth to flood down her chin and chest -; Felix only laughed. "Fucker," The insult was weak, and rough, but she turned her obsidian gaze back to his and glare viciously, still baring bloody teeth at him in warning. Her body was weak, but she was stronger than ever.

"Sure you aren't hungry?" Felix shifted his grip, holding onto one shoulder so he could grasp the girl's chin and pull the girl's head back. He lunged down, tearing into her throat and pulling the girl's had back sharply, ripping it off. He raised his own bloody grin now, and though his eyes were dark now, the color couldn't overtake the whole of his eye - never mind that he could _never_ reach that intensity of glare.

"Only for your mother's sweet pussy," She proudly raised her head up and smirked at him, her eyes shining triumphantly as he growled at her. He stepped back, grabbing the whip offered to him and rolling her shoulder a few times before it cracked across one of her eyes. She flinched back, hardly managing to keep from losing the eye, and glared at him once again, though that small smirk never quite left her face. It seemed her hunger was making her delusional, or perhaps crazed. Either way, it was strangely fun to frustrate them. They would have to feed her eventually, she _knew_ she was too important to just be allowed to wither away and die.

"You little _bitch_," Felix sneered at her as he took one threatening step closer. She threw her head back, openly laughing at him, despite how it made her cheek ache and eye throb.

"Is that your mamma's pet name? I'll have to use it next time," She smirked at him, and he growled, moving to lung for her and rip her head off like he'd just done to the Daemon.

"FELIX!" The smaller Priest flung her hood back, glaring at the male as he fell to the floor, convulsing. He stopped after a second, and stood up to turn his own dark glare on the blonde girl standing behind him.

"How DARE you-"

"It was a trick, Felix," she intoned, glaring at him coldly. "Look at her, why don't you?" He did, and he could see how excited she was, he could hear her heart pumping harder and faster, waiting, _waiting_ for him to draw close enough for her to strike out at him. She didn't crave blood nearly as much as she craved to sink her teeth into him and rip him apart.

"You smart little shit!" He laughed now as he stepped back. The whip cracked across her skin, the steel tip biting into the flesh of her stomach. She head flew back as she gasped sharply in pain, but she clenched her teeth to stop any other noise from escaping as she brought her angry eyes back to meet his. "You think I'm an idiot, eh? Hah! I'm too old and too wise to fall for your tricks!"

"Too old, too wise, but without your little friends you would be dead right now," she sneered at him in return, chuckling darkly. "Wanna try it again, ask yer little friends to leave, why don'tcha? It'll be fun, me... you... alone... You'll die quickly, I prom-" The whip cracked against her skin again, her body seized up at the sensation.

"You insolent little _bitch_! You think I can't kill you, you think I won't enjoy every single second of it?" He snarled as he took another step forward, despite the warning hisses he received from his companions.

"But you _can't_ kill me, stupid old fool! You're too much of a good servant for that. Master will get angry, and you will die!" She threw her head back and laughed manically, while the whip lashed her again, and again, and again. But she only laughed, with every blow, she laughed.

"STOP IT!" He rushed forward, arm drawn back to punch through her skull, when her head whipped forward and he had a moment to comprehend the grin on her face before her foot flew up and hit him under the jaw. The _crack_ of bones breaking was belied by the sound of his skin giving way, as his head ripped half from his body, dangling back on his neck. Before she could get much further with that, the blonde girl rushed forward, eyeing her coolly - and it could have been her delusions, but she swore it was almost sad - before she quickly moved around behind her and knocked on her skull hard, sending her into blissful unconsciousness.

"It seems we shouldn't leave him alone with her ever," She sighed as she stepped from behind the totally limp body, poking at Felix's body - which had collapsed to the floor - with the toe of her boot. Although, it was more of a kick than anything.

"He's a savage, really," Pulling her hood back, the brunette slowly shook her locks out, smiling at the body on the floor. "It's embarrassing. He gives us a bad name."

"Indeed," the blonde sniffed, stepping over the body and towards the brunette. She stopped as she reached the taller woman's side, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as she glanced over her shoulder at the halfling dangling from the ceiling. "Do you think... we should help her...?"

"No, Jane," the woman sighed in response, frowning as she looked on at the halfling as well. "It's too dangerous."

"He's a bastard! It'll be worth it, Chelsea!" Jane insisted, turning pleading eyes back to the woman before her, who could only smile sadly at her.

"Hush now, Jane. He'll hear you," Chelsea murmured, and Jane looked almost hurt for a moment, unsure of what to do, before she simply sighed and nodded. Now was not the time to talk of revolution, not when they were under the thumb of a King that could read minds. Now was the time to wait, to watch, and when the right opportunity presented itself, to wage war.

* * *

From the dark recesses of the shadows cast by her hood, the seer stared unblinkingly at the woman across the chamber from her, hanging from the ceiling. She frowned as she pulled her hood down, slowly making her way closer, taking the time to study the girl. The King usually sent her down here, after every session the young halfling had with the Priests assigned to her interrogation/breaking, so that she could look into the halfling's future, to see if the girl might give in soon. For the past week, the answer had been the same every single time: _No._ And every time, the King would still try to defy her knowledge - knowledge he didn't even realize she _didn't_ have. She couldn't see the halfling's future, but she didn't need to, honestly, to be able to tell if she would give in.

The girl refused blood, and she was so very hungry. She had been deprived of nourishment, in the hopes that it might break her spirit, but it had only brought out the fire in her, burning ever brighter. Every time they brought a Daemon in, even if they were pouring the blood down the halfling's naked chest, she refused to even give it a glance, a courteous sniff. It was strange and made little sense... but somehow, it was so terribly amazing. Her will, strong enough that she could fight the greatest of hungers, would not break any time soon.

She didn't need to hear the woman speak, no, _scream_ and snap and rage, to know that she would die before she gave in - she was loyal to Daemons, and to those Daemons that belonged to her organization, as if they were, every single one of them, mated to her. And who knew? Maybe she was, maybe that was the biggest difference between mutts and pure breeds. Not that her heart beat, not that she had no venom, and could not be turned fully, but that she could take as many mates as possible. It was a ridiculous thought - multiple mates, that was plausible, but _that_ many? Highly unlikely - but she couldn't help to entertain it. Chelsea, the master manipulator, had told her days before that although she could sense the bond the halfling had with every Daemon she lead, she could not touch it. She could not bend or break it, tweak it in any sort of way - she'd also heard that Jane's powers did not work, and she suspected that the oh-so mighty King's powers didn't work oh the woman, either.

She never told the King that she couldn't see the halfling's future, for the fact that he tolerated her presence and resentment only for the ability that she had. If it became apparent that she was really useless, he would dispose of her - and despite her distaste with everything that he did and everything that he was, she was not ready to throw her life away for it. The King was crazed, that she was sure of, but so far, he had allowed her to continue living, and until she found a way to escape him permanently that did not involve the forfeit of her own life, she would very much need to continue living. And she wondered, as she drew closer still to the limp body, if perhaps _that_ was why she felt the need to get closer to the halfling - in more than just a physical sense, as she was indulging in that desire now -, perhaps _that_ was why she felt such a secret, desperate need to help the captive.

This hybrid could very well free her. Some part of her mind, some base, instinctual part of her, recognized the halfling as... she wasn't sure what, but all she knew was that this woman was strong, much stronger than many of the others would give her credit for, much stronger than _this_...

"What have we done to you?" she wondered aloud, brows furrowed and mouth turned down in a frown. She shook her head softly, sneering with disgust. Here, this powerful, deadly creature hung before her, like some slaughtered pig on a meat hook - and she was bruised and bloody; broken, bedraggled, and abused. It was sickening. It was saddening. Such beautiful pale skin, marred by ugly scars. Such a strong being, beaten like a common slave. And... she honestly wasn't sure if Felix had managed to slip between her legs yet. "What _have_ we done to you?" She stepped closer, reaching out for the girl's face, hoping to tilt it up, brush the long locks of dirty hair out of the way, and perhaps determine the full extent of her injuries for the day, in the hopes that she might be able to heal her, help her, in some sort of way.

She should have known better though. She'd heard how the interrogations were conducted, knew that the girl was a kicker and a biter, and that getting too close would be detrimental to her own health, but in that instant she had paid it no mind. She was so sure that the girl was unconscious, that when said girl lunged forward suddenly - as much as the chains restricting her would allow -, the seer could not react. Her whole body locked up when deadly sharp teeth tore through her tough skin, the whole of her left shoulder and the side of her neck aching as those jaws closed more, the teeth digging into her deeper. A growl rumbled up through the halfling's chest, vibrating in the seer's own as she stood there, frozen, and afraid. The seer suddenly cannot see, not anything - and maybe it's because her eyes are shut tight as she waits to die, like Felix nearly did today -, and she can only focus on how her vision dims as despair crushes down on her, as the scent of her own death - fire, flame, smoke, and ash - fills her nostrils.

And then the growl stops, abruptly, and the vibrations stop, and she realizes that the growl was not what was vibrating through her chest, but simply her own fear, so great she was _shaking_. But her eyes are still shut tight, her death still looms in her nose, the teeth are still deep within her, tapping and pressing sharply against bones that are harder than diamonds, but feel weaker than wet paper as she waits and waits... And the pressure is gone, so suddenly, she falls back, blinking eyes darkened by fear open so she can stare up at the troubled, glittering black gaze of the captive. She seems completely out of control now, her jaw working, mouth opening and closing in an effort to make words, but none come. So her jaw snaps shut, and she grinds her teeth, growling and grunting softly.

The seer, suddenly realizing what has happened, where she is - in perfect range to have her head kicked clean off - and where she could very well end up in the next few seconds, suddenly claps a hand over the injured shoulder, body removing her from danger before she makes the conscious effort to. She's across the room and those dark eyes, gleaming unnaturally as they track her, are unnervingly intelligent - despite how the halfling has apparently reverted to some sort of purely instinctual state -, strangely amused and troubled as she pressed her back against the wall, across the chamber from the _very_ aware hybrid.

"How your heart would beat," the halfling rasps, a half smirk tilting her lips up slightly as she speaks. It's intelligent, but those eyes never revert back to something resembling Daemon coloration. "Were you alive. And how you flew from me! A little hummingbird..." Her venom trickles past her fingers clamped over the wound - it's cool and thick, slides slimily down her arm to drip from her bent elbow and soak into her cloak as she pants, the realization that she very nearly died suddenly breaking through her numb shock, sending her into some sort of panic. She begins to inch towards the door to the chamber, with the intent to leave before the girl - despite that she was chained up and across the chamber - managed to sink her claws into the seer's back next, and rip her spine from her body. "And it's strange, you are not food, yet I wish to consume you."

The seer froze, eyes widening impossibly as the halfling breaths in deeply, and eyes her, another growl rumbling in her chest. It isn't threatening, the look, or the growl, but she suddenly feels very unsafe, trapped like a bird in a cage.

"You are not food..." the halfling trails off into low chuckles. "Yet I wish to devour you whole!" And with those words, the seer propels herself to the door, tearing out of the room as quickly as possible, but not fast enough to miss the halfling's parting words. "Come back soon, little hummingbird!" Laughter followed her all the way to her quarters, echoing still in her ears as she closes the door to her sound proofed room, locking herself away for the remainder of the night.

* * *

**Woaaah, I'm stopping here. Poor Alice, gettin' attacked. Cry for her, for she aches. AND GIVE ME SOME REVIEWS WHILE YOUR AT IT, I need the boost. ~_~ Okay, not really, BUT STILL! So... guess what? I have discovered the joy of smoking cigarettes! Yaaay, no. I should actually stop smoking them **_**now**_** before I get addicted... but I love it. *sighs* **

**Anyway, I really do hope there are less mistakes now, but... I don't ever edit this crap. And ya know what, it's nice to do somethin' a little darker for once. I'm stepping away from my feel-good roots, and it feels... well, good. ^^ So yeah, drop me a review, PM me, whatever. Just don't flame. I will put cigarettes out on you, just see if I won't!**


	5. Chapter 5

"Alice?" The soft knock on her door did nothing for her nerves, and though she'd heard him coming minutes ago - knew he'd be coming some few hours ago, actually - she still jumped and flinched at the sound. Her door opened then, and it was with shaking hands that she quickly pulled her hood up over her head, hiding her face - and for that matter, her neck - from view. "Are you well?"

"NO!" She snapped back without thinking, even before her door could open fully. The pale digits wrapped around the side of her door stood out against the dark wood, so she focused on those, and glared, and filled herself with anger, hatred, negative feelings of every sort. "Go away!" Silence, complete silence, and perhaps, she thought, she could see the grip of the fingers on the door tightening. The door opened, and a figure stood there, dark eyes searching her out and finding her in the same moment. A concerned frown, that twinkle in the eye - of love, of-of _affection_, neither of which she deserved - and he started to step closer to her. His blonde hair, pale skin, and terrifying eyes - he was like some beautiful, battle-scarred angel. She almost could have laughed, thinking, _he IS a beautiful, battle-scarred Angel... _They all were...

"You are _not_ well; have you been drinking enough?" She hissed at the question; fangs dropping down, she bared her teeth at him and growled in warning. He was trying to step closer, but she was uncomfortable, she was _afraid_. If he got near her now, she would attack him. "Do not react so, Sister, I am merely worried for your health..."

"You worry... over _me?_" She snorted, spitting at him - it was residue of old blood, clotting in her body as her body sought to withdraw any nutrients from what blood was left within her, and thus it was black and foul - as she glared balefully. "Your leader hangs in chains, and _you_ worry over _me_?" He winced now, had the decency to look hurt, and she felt some satisfaction in causing him that pain - he had betrayed the deadly, captivating being that still hung in the dungeons, being whipped and tortured now as they spoke - before she remembered that he _could not_ help his traitorous turn. The King had read his mind, had seen that something was amiss, and the monster had forced the poor new Priest into fighting his old leader.

"I... cannot do anything to help her, she is beyond my reach now," He said it all very humbly, and the honesty was new, _refreshing_. She felt bad now, and nodded once in response to the truth he spoke. The Priest could do far less than she _would_ be able to do. "But you, Sister, are not. Tell me, what troubles you?" She realized the truth in those words as well, and could not deny that she wished to allow him in to her secret fears. He might help her; he was a good Angel, after all. _A guardian angel..._

"I fear her," Alice admitted at last, head bowed as she waited for the judgment.

"They all fear her, why should you be any different?" He was amused, she could tell by the tone, and as she glared up at him she found that he was smiling gently at her. She smiled back, despite herself, but then shook it away as she turned her eyes from his.

"She bit me, you know," she told him slowly. He took a step towards her, and her eyes flicked up, as she reached for the hood, pulling it down. The hood was large, and her body thin, so it pooled around her shoulders, exposing her pale neck to his eyes. They widened, and he gasped. He met her eyes again, could see the moisture gathering on them, her panic surfacing quickly. "And it _won't heal!_" He was standing next to her in the same moment, one hand holding her chin, twisting her face just slightly so he could eye the damage. She didn't react though, sensing no threat from her Brother.

"It... looks almost like..." he began hesitantly as he let go of her chin and began to drift back.

"I know," she told him, eyes lowered and shoulders trembling lightly. "Imagine if the King finds it!" A cold chill slithered up his spine and he shuddered.

"You would not survive it..." he murmurs, almost subconsciously. His eyes meet hers, and she nods once in response - they both understand, then, what should happen should everyone know. "..._Is _it, though?"

"No! Of course not!"

"Then why would it stay, when she's no venom to leave a scar?" Alice shook her head, one hand sliding up to clamp over the bite, squeezing her shoulder as the still-open wound ached for a moment. The ache persisted though, and she winced as a particularly painful throb radiated through her back and up into her bottom jaw. "What is it?"

"It hurts!" she whimpered, falling to her knees now as the sting burst to life throughout her body, her muscles buzzing with pain. He was next to her then, one arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest, where she muffled low cries of pain. _It HURT, why did it HURT so much? She felt like, like... fire biting into her skin, stinging across her chest, her back, her face..._ And then the pain, somehow, thankfully, lifted. It stopped, and the phantom aftershocks were soothed. "Thank you..." she muttered into his chest, and he only rumbled something low in response.

"Maybe... if you took her blood...?" he began, again hesitating to even speak the words. The seer held such reverence for the halfling; this might very well get his head ripped from his body. "You may go now, you know."

"And... if I do not go now?" she questioned grimly, choosing to ignore his first question.

"One day-"

"And you'd kill me?" His head bowed, and he did not answer. "Right then. Are they done with her?"

"I... I think so. If not, I may also escort you to a feeding..." He looked up to find her glaring at him, and merely raised one questioning brow.

"I think I'll take my chances in the dungeons," she grumbled back at him, turning away from him stubbornly, tilting her chin up proudly.

* * *

At the time of her decision, she had felt that it was a very smart one. She could not detect a single part of it that had been bad. But now, standing before the door to the halfling's chamber... she felt that her idea was a _very _bad one. _I can't do this, I CAN'T do THIS!_

"_Fly back to me, little humming bird!_" The low voice of the captive crooned from inside the chamber. Her cheeks felt cool as the venom in her body gathered in her cheeks. And what had she to be embarrassed of? A delusional prisoner calling her ridiculous names?

_No, a completely conscious prisoner that wants a taste of flesh..._

Right then. So she should _not_ be here right now, not when the prisoner was hungry for her, and had almost ripped her head off a week ago. But... she had to; otherwise the King would make sure she was killed! Once she was useless, she would be destroyed, that was the one thing about the King that none of the Priests liked - his quick temper and vicious _baptizings_ when one of them displeased him greatly, or had become of no use. This had to be done now, or she would die.

_Some inspiration..._

Nonetheless, she took a deep, calming breath and bravely pushed the door open, closing it behind her. A dark head of hair lifted and a beautiful, pale face was grinning up at the seer. Deadly black eyes met the seer's own darkened eyes, and she could see them glittering with interest. Perhaps she'd noticed how similar their eyes were beginning to appear. The seer's were nearly as full and black as the halfling's, after all. She didn't say anything at first, and neither did the halfling - one content to watch and the other content to wait.

"Hallo, little bird," the halfling called suddenly, cheerfully. The seer was taken aback at the bright tone, in stark contrast with the new marks across her chest, and her face. They slashed across her cheek - only one cheek this time - and down from the top of her head to her chin. The one across her other eye hadn't even healed yet, nor the ones over her stomach and the seer would be willing to bet her back was much the same. "Sing for me, won't you please?" The request was practically a whimper, and those deadly eyes were so imploring, so enchanting, the seer nearly lost herself in them. She did not answer, however. She chose to remain silent, just watching the girl. "I don't bite much, little humming bird. Not the second time around." The halfling grinned, and it was unsettling, but the seer grinned back - though it was small and unconvincing - and took a few, slow steps closer.

"How do you fare today?" The halfling's eyes widened and she smiled widely then.

"My, your sound is sweet as your taste. The whole of you is marvelous, you know." It was hardly a complement - too matter-of-fact, almost clinical. She felt her cheeks cooling again, though, and turned her eyes away. "How radiant you are when your cheek colors...!"

"You might answer my question...?" the seer insisted, keeping her gaze turned away. The halfling huffed, but answered shortly.

"And how would you imagine I fare today?" She was smiling ironically as she glanced down at herself, and then back up at the seer. The seer winced and hesitantly turned back to the halfling, studying her again, taking stock of the injuries - new and old - that littered what she could see of the woman's body once more, trying to determine for herself exactly how the halfling was today. She received her answer shortly, and winced once more - the halfling fared badly, of course. "And what of you, little bird, have you been well since we last met?"

And wasn't that a question to ask. How had _she_ been since she'd last encountered the halfling, since she'd had her life threatened and subsequently spared by the weak - but still surprisingly powerful - being that hung from the ceiling? _Terrified, agonized, horrified_... and bored, mostly bored. The bite had taken a full day to stop seeping her venom, and had then taken another two days before it had stopped aching every time she shifted her neck - _sternocleidomastoid_... she wasn't really sure how she knew the word, or really how it applied to her neck, she only knew that it did. After that, though, it had mostly been her pacing around her room, trying to figure out how she had been spared, and how she might continue to live if the King heard word of the strange occurrence.

She'd allowed the vague confirmation to reach the King that she had been attacked much the same reason that Felix had, but did not bother to elaborate. Felix was coming back tomorrow, as far as she knew, so that was why the halfling was free of broken bones - as far as the seer could tell, at least (which was quite far, except when taking the halfling into consideration) - today. And her return to the halfling's chamber was her ticket to continue living, because if she did not comply she would be ripped apart and wiped from existence. So... how _had_ she been since she'd last encountered the halfling hanging from the ceiling, watching her with those haunting eyes?

"I am not dead," she eventually murmured, frowning. Making a quick decision, she reached up, grabbing hold of the edge of the hood to pull it back. She hesitated, though, trying to weigh the options of this venture, before she decided that she had to try; who knew, perhaps her Brother had been right? That thought in mind, she pulled the hood back, letting her arms drop back to her sides as she met the halfling's gaze. It was burning with an intensity that well matched the scent of fire in the air. "Not yet. And your mark hardly helps." The halfling didn't respond at first, and the seer could not tell if the halfling was watching her, or staring at the mark on her exposed shoulder.

"...Mine," the halfling breathed as her eyes lost that sparkle of intelligence and she retreated within herself. Her head hung slightly, and she stared unseeingly at the ground. It was hers, _her_ mark, _her_ claim. "_My_ little humming bird..."

"_What_? Don't say that!" The halfling's head lifted once more as the seer spoke. "I don't _need_ your mark!"

"_Mine!_" The halfling snarled as she began to struggle and tug against the restraints.

"I don't _care_! I don't _want_ it!"

"_MINE!_" she insisted, tugging even more fervently against the chains, her wrists beginning to bleed sluggishly as she opened old wounds. HER mark, HER claim, how dare-

"This mark of _YOURS_ will _KILL ME_!" The halfling's struggles ceased immediately.

"... W-... What?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Wow... so this will probably be removed. Cherish it... Nah, not really, this is just some dark ass shit I get to play around with. ^^ But hey, do what you want. Cuz Boss Lady B gets her ass beat. I can't help it, I just saw that movie Martyrs. ****Mylène Jampanoï is so fucking hot; why must you be married? Seriously, google her. Trust me.**

**Please forgive mistakes... my MS word is fucked up, and I can't use it, so this is all by hand,err, keyboard... whatever. But there's bound to be a gob of mistakes, so please show me some love and forgiveness. **

* * *

"Can't you run?" A shake of the head, her expression falls. It's not desperately hopeful, just desperate. Only desperate. She's hurt, she's afraid, she doesn't understand - and yet, she does, she can see again the King's eyes, how evil they are, how sickly they gleam with glee at her pain.

"No," It goes unspoken - _they would find me_ - but she does know it, so very well. She remembers, a time she shouldn't, a time she wishes she didn't, but she does remember a time when she was young, when her mother was alive, a time when she was still _here,_ in this place. She remembers the Angels, mostly she remembers the Priests, and what they were able to do. This one is new, the King is new as well, but she does remember that there is one who can track. But it's much more than simply that, it's something far more powerful, far more inescapble. She also remembers, though, that she can escape it, that _she_ is unaffected. _She_ has a chance, and if she has a chance...

"I will protect you-"

"Hanging in chains?" A whimper made the seer wince, and she turned her eyes away from those darkly gleaming ones opposite the room from her. She was closer than she had been when she'd first entered, yes, but she was still far away. Half the length of the room separated them, and she didn't see quite fit to make that distance smaller. She couldn't. She wouldn't. She-

"I can, please, _please_, I will, you must release me; _please_," She... she couldn't... she wouldn't... she _shouldn't._ But she didn't say any of this, didn't bother to even shake her head. She stood there, silently, and waited for the halfling to quiet, for the low whimpers to quiet, she waited. And her wait did nothing, not to help her. It hurt her, because she could only listen to a heart pound sluggishly, she could only take in a breath of air tasting of sick ashes - yes, _sick_ ashes; she could smell the infection, she could smell the impending death, she could smell the sickness twisting her stomach into painful knots, but mostly she could smell that fire - and blood. Sweet, sweet blood. The venom that had cooled her cheek now gathered on her tongue, burning as it rushed through her body, reminding her that she was empty, that she was _hungry._

_Drip._

And it smelled of ashes.

_Drip._

It smelled thickly of sickness, of something foul and unpleasant.

_Drip._

It smelled of infection.

_Drip._

Largely though - or the thing that her mind largely focused - was how very sweet that blood did smell. It smelled of fire, and candy confections. It was soothing, and insinuationg. It was lust, and power; it was fulfilling and unsatisfying. You wanted more, and needed less.

_Drip._

But mostly, mostly it was dripping. It was wasting away, dripping from heavy chains and weak limbs. It was calling to her, screaming in her ears, tearing into her nose, the taste dancing just across the surface of her tongue, waiting for her to take a sip. Just a nibble, just a taste, just something to wet her tongue, to sooth the ache in her limbs and her shoulder. She found herself unable to answer the plea of the captive, unable to stop herself from drifting closer now

_Drip._

It was calling to her.

_Drip._

She could hear her name.

_Drip._

In ever splash of the blood hitting the floor, collecting in the puddle just below the captive's toes.

_Drip._

"_Alice_," She glanced up sharply from the puddle. Dark eyes were watching her, and she was startled to find that she could see herself perfectly reflected in those eyes. Her eyes were dark, full and hungry. She was hungry. She was _hungry._

_Drip._

"How do you know me?" she spoke before she could stop herself, before she could consider the question. How _did_ the halfling know her, when she hardly knew the halfling herself? But there was something... something in the back of her mind, tickling the edge of her consciousness, something that told her... _What was it saying?_ It spoke in a language she knew by instinct, but still couldn't quite comprehend.

_Drip._

"I can still taste you."

_DRIP._

She closed her eyes, lifted a hand to her head, rubbing softly at her temples. No more of that now, she couldn't handle it. The next drip she breathed in loudly, holding the breath and screaming nonsense in her mind. She blocked it out, she blocked them out, and just waited. _Always waiting... for what?_ And then light flashed behind her closed eye lids, and her body froze as a vision played out before her eyes. She came out of it with a shuddering gasp, and fell to her knees. Her head shot up suddenly, her body followed, and she rushed forward. "You m-must be strong! He-he's so angry, I just-" The door was pounded upon and Alice jumped from her like she had the week before. The halfling admired her little bird, flying away once more, but not for long - Alice was against the wall and Felix stood in the doorway, the door broken off it's hinges. His eyes were black with fury, and his teeth were deadly sharp, dropping down and dripping with venom. Before Alice could even twitch, his head whipped around and that gaze focused on her.

"**OUT**," he hissed, and she hardly dared to let her head drop down in a nod before she flashed past him. He grabbed the door, and threw it back into place, lips drawing back from his teeth as a growl began to rumble up through his chest. He turned to face the captive, and began salivating once again. Her eyes were a perfect match for his, her teeth were longer though, sharper. In that moment, her whole body thrummed with energy, energy she hadn't even known she'd still had. She was ready for this. She was ready for _him_, and the very worst he could do. Felix began to laugh though, and it was this low, dark laugh filled with sick promise. "You shouldn't have kicked the head that feeds."

She did not answer him, but her body tensed at his voice, as her lips drew back farther, practically sneering at him. He growled sharply at the challenge. But he smiled once more when she began to tug at the restraints, trying to get her toes on the floor so she could really use her full strength.

"They say you're a good fighter," Felix commented as he began to take a few, slow steps forward. "And that none of our powers work on you..." She began to growl at him, uncomfortable with his approach. "But I'm not here because I have powers. I'm here because I'm a fighter." That finally brought a Daemon reaction from her, and she snorted, laughing harshly. "Oh, it's true. And you see, whether you're better than me or not, I'm strong and well fed, and you..." She saw the blow coming, and tried to ready herself for it. She tried to lung at him and bite, but her body was tired, sore, slow. He was too fast, and she could do nothing as his fist bore down on her. "You're _weak_."

Her bones gave way, blood rushed into her mouth, and her broken jaw was slack enough that the blood just dribbled out. Her head hung to the side as colors flashed before her eyes, black began to swirl in her vision before she clenched her eyes shut and took a deep breath. The nerve endings in her jaw were screaming, she was weeping on the inside, but she only slowly swung her head back up to bravely meet his gaze.

"Oh, but you _are_ a little fighter, eh?" He chuckled as he stepped away from her, out of her range for kicking. He smiled widely, it was almost a child-like smile of pure happiness, as he let his eyes trail over her body. She was dying, it was easy to tell - there was no fat on her, and no food in her, so her body was beginning to eat itself. Her eyes were sunken in, her cheeks hollow, and her bones were protruding sharply, nearly tearing through the skin. What muscle there was left on her was weak, small. And yet she still lived. It was... admirable. Thinking for a moment, Felix grinned and wandered closer - and this time, when her leg swung up, he caught it, twisted it painfully, pulling until he had dislocated the limb, and then dropped it -, reaching up to finger the manacles that were still sticky with fresh blood. "Wouldn't it be more fun, if it were a fair fight?"

She snarled weakly, and he drew his hand back, reaching into the folds of his cloak to withdraw a key. Her body froze impossibly, her eyes locked onto the key. He chuckled and moved it from side to side in front of her face teasingly. And then, he quickly reached up and released the manacles. She dropped to the ground in a graceless heap, and he laughed as he stepped away from her, across the room, securing the door. When he turned back to her, she was crouched oddly, one leg sticking out to the side - it was the one he had dislocated; she couldn't heal anymore, not now, but she couldn't feel the pain either, her mind had shut it off - as she tried to balance on the other three limbs. Her fingers were curled around the edges of the stones that made up the whole of the room, and she was desperately trying to pull one of them up without the Priest noticing, so she snarled and growled - her jaw, it was broken, she knew, but she couldn't _feel_ that it was.

Felix only laughed harder. "You think you can fight me?" He threw his head back, his body shook with his mirth. She growled louder - he was _dismissing her_. She lunged at him suddenly, and that indomitable energy fueled her; she felt indestruct- "IDIOT!" He backhanded her, her head whipped to the side, her body followed, and then her head cracked against the wall. More blood, gushing from a nose newly crooked - she pushed herself up with shaking arms, fell, pushed herself up again, fell again, into blood slicked stone. "I can kill you..." A foot, slamming into her spine. Her back arched, mouth falling open - awkwardly, of course - in a silent scream of agony, as she writhed and clawed at the stones beneath her. _Energy._ She grasped onto it, pushed herself up and back with all her strength. Felix was flung off, he crashed into the wall head first, and when he pushed himself up with an angry snarl, he found the halfling clinging to the wall. She was panting, and the blood was running down her face, but he felt not pity for her. "_Bitch!_"

She shoved herself away from the wall and fell heavily on her side, a blink before his fist crushed the stone where her head had leaned. She couldn't roll out of the way of the vicious kick he aimed at her next, though. The blast of pain rocked through her, but delayed, as if her body attempted to hold it off. It couldn't though, not with her energy reserve depleted as it was. Her vision did fail her, for a few long moments, and she lay there on her side, gasping in air and praying to anyone that would listen. No one would hear her, it seemed, when Felix picked her up and threw her across the room.

"Ain't ya gonna keep fighting?" he sneered at her. Her eyes were wide open, but unseeing, as she attempted to scramble away from him. There was no way she could get away though, not for lack of trying, but for the weakness in her limbs. "Come on, put 'em up, toss a punch!" He laughed as he stepped over to her, poking at her with the toe of his boot. She immediately twisted away from him, hissing and spitting. "You _do_ still have some fight left, eh? Well, I'll take care of that..."

* * *

It was some hours later that Alice slipped back into the chamber, eyeing the door critically. It was leaning against the frame, and it was leaning crooked - the King was displeased with this, that much she knew from attending his sermon just an hour or so ago - but that was not the reason she was here. She could disapprove of Felix's treatment of furniture on her own time, she was here for a much larger purpose than that; the King had sent her on Felix's word that the captive would give in soon. She was sent to look into the future - which she still did not inform the King she could not see - and see for herself exactly when the captive would hang her head in defeat. Alice still believed it to be an impossibility, even as she hesitated to turn her eyes upon the young woman. Felix had been with her for a few hours - _alone_ - and she couldn't... she couldn't even begin to imagine all that the Priest had done. Her body ached - and she had a bit of an idea as to why -, and it had been aching for hours.

When at last she took a deep, calming breath and turned to face the captive, she could hardly contain her gasp. "Oh God!" She slapped her hands over her eyes, squeezed them shut for good measure, and fell back, leaning against the wall for support. She peeked out from between her fingers, slowly, hesitantly, and shut her eyes tight once again. "_Oh God!_" What had... She pushed off from the wall, stumbled out of the room, hand against her stomach as she fought off _nausea_; she was an Angel, she didn't _get sick!_ As quickly as she could, she navigated the corridors of the lower levels and made her way towards the King's throne room, where he lounged on his throne, sipping blood and conversing with guests. _Him and his guests, the selfish PRICK!_ She threw the doors open, and they slammed back against the wall loudly - many Angels in the room flinched from the booming echo - as she strode in, baring teeth and snarling furiously.

"Aliiice, how wonderful of you to join us-"

"Cut the shit! What the hell did you let him DO?" She demanded. The King's personal guards stepped out from behind his throne to bustle in front of her, but he called to them and they stopped, moving out of the seer's way so she could continue on her path of destruction - she did so gladly.

"Why, whatever do you mean?" One brow was quirked curiously, his lips were tilted up just slightly, and she wanted to fucking murder him. How _dare_ he sit on that god damned throne, the pretentious _thief_ didn't deserve the honor! Now his lips fell down in a definite frown as he leaned forward, regarding her through narrowed eyes. "Excuse me?"

"SHE. WILL. DIE! Don't you GET IT! She ISN'T like us, she needs food, water, fucking SOMETHING! YOU GOD DAMN MONSTER!" She was in his face now, screaming at him, but her hands were tightly balled fists, shaking at her sides. It took everything she had to not hit him. She wanted to, she wanted to so very badly; she wanted to repay him tenfold everything he had allowed Felix to do to the captive. The King tossed his head back and laughed at her; it was cruel, a slap in the face, and the rest of the Angels within the room soon picked it up.

"You're just jealous!" The call made her tense, the next insult she was going to throw at the King dying in her throat as the sick bastard that had done the damage dared to speak up. She swung her head around, her eyes dark and angry. Those pinpoints of non-light focused on Felix, and he was grinning like a damn fool. How she absolutely _ached_ to knock every single one of those sparkling white teeth, and shove them one at a time up his ass. "You wanted to taste her first, but I got to!" He laughed, and the insinuation made her snarl viciously. It was an absolutely horrific noise, but it did nothing for the smug, satisfied smirk on the Priest's face. "And you know what's great about being first...?"

"Don't you say a _damn_ thing to me, you vulgar _filth_," Her whole body shook with rage, but she refused to indulge in the wild emotion tearing her mind to pieces.

"I was _the_ first, the _very_ first," Her body locked up, her mind raced to decipher the message. Before a second could pass, she understood his words, and after the second passed, there was silence. It seemed the room held their breath, waiting for a reaction. They didn't have to wait long.

"YOU BASTARD!" She flew at him so fast, he could hardly move his head - it was good he had, because she would have finished the job that the halfling started. She swung a leg out after her uppercut, caught him in the side and sent him barreling into the nearest wall. The resounded _boom_ shook the walls. Felix stood up, teeth bared angrily, but he could not find her. A screech, like the wail of a banshee, tore through his sensitive ears, miliseconds before Alice tore through his bones, muscles, flesh - she had flashed behind his fallen body, and shook with her rage as she waited for him to stand. She was small, not as strong as he, but she was faster than he was, and just strong enough to rip him apart with her bare hands.

"Restrain her," the King called boredly, waving at his guards. They waited for a few seconds as Alice screamed - not spoke, or yelled, but screamed a continuous stream of unintelligible noise - and raged, ripped him apart, flayed the flesh from muscles and threw it across the room. When at last she sat in a pile of venom and bits of Felix, still racked with shudders, they moved forward, locked each of their arms around one of hers and pulled them behind her back. They dragged her back to the King, but she never pulled her eyes from the pile of broken flesh, never stopped trembling with pure rage. She wanted to kill, she wanted to maim, _she wanted to feed._ "Dear Alice, how long since last you fed?" She glanced up at the King at last, and now her eyes were full, dark with hunger.

"Too long, your Divinity," She spoke around a mouthful of sharp teeth, and he nodded sympathetically.

"Yes, I would believe so. Go feed, and then do go and inform Alec he is to oversee the interrogations," Alice kept her thoughts to herself, banishing those dissenting ones that screamed murder - _how dare he continue to torture her, when she was BROKEN!_ - and focused on the thought of feeding, of how very hungry she was, how very empty she felt.

"Yes, your Divinity," She bowed her head, and he waved to his guards; they released her and she dropped on one knee. The King smiled warmly at her - that was more like it! - and waved her away. She stood and began to step backwards towards the door, never lifting her head - it was a sign of her graciousness, for he had just spared her life after she had taken it upon herself to dispose of one of his favorite of the Priests. When she at last left the throne room, she lifted her head with a rumbling growl. She felt the anger drain from her and pure fear took its place. _Oh God_, she would die, and the King would let her. The halfling would _die_ - and the thought hurt her so very much. _What could she do?_ There was little food for Daemons here, and that was used to keep their feed bags alive so the blood would be fresh. The taste of fear in blood was exquisite, and you couldn't get that from blood lifted from a body two days old.

And Daemon food, what good would that do for the halfling now, when she was on death's door step? No, Daemon food was useless, tasteless, _powerless_; she needed _blood_. But... she was too loyal to her Daemon, she would _never_ partake of the blood willingly, even if she knew that Alice had dragged a Daemon there - a sure death sentence - just to feed her. She would never, not _willingly_. And force was not an option - Alice could not bring herself to... not now. There was only one way for her to feed the halfling, only one way that she could see at least. She'd have to trick her into it. She felt disgust turn her stomach away from the thought of it, but she knew it was necessary. That thought in mind, she made her way - slowly - down towards the dungeons, but left alone the wing that the halfling was kept on, bypassing it in favor of the wing that the Daemons were kept on. _If this doesn't work_, she thought,_ I'll die anyway. Might as well use the King's reserve._

She opened the door, and the light cast by the flickering torches in the corridor was blaringly bright to the Daemon, she could tell by how they flinched and fled from it - or perhaps, from her - so she quickly closed the door behind her. "Ar-are you going to kill us?" The question sent a sharp stab a pain through her - despite her being an Angel, despite her being a _Priest_, she still felt such guilt every feeding - and she swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. _For Her, for HER, for..._

"I'm sorry, I'll make it quick. Please don't scream," She knew it was useless, and so, at the first scream, she snapped a neck and continued to feed. She hated herself with every drop she ingested, but she continued, with the thought in mind that it was for _Her_, and therefore, necessary. She gorged herself, fed until she felt bloated and even dizzy; and once she was so full she had a mouthful of blood she just _couldn't_ swallow, she left. She pulled her hood down, and then rethought it and ripped her cloak off, reaching up to smear the blood on her hands across the bite mark on her shoulder. It was no longer fresh and gaping - the blood had healed it well - but it was still there, and she was rather sure it would be for a while. Perhaps forever, and who knew, if this didn't work, and she _wasn't_ killed for treason, perhaps she could simply call it a spat with a now-dead newborn and get away with it. But that was only if this fantasy she entertained - where she wasn't killed for treason - did indeed come true... which it wouldn't.

Her nerves and thoughts couldn't stop her from turning the corner and striding down that long corridor. As she paused in front of the door, mouthful of blood quite tasteless to her now, she couldn't find it in herself to turn around and run away - she had the chance, she could do it now and maybe, just maybe, she could get away... - because she'd come this far, and... she could not live with herself if she turned her back on the halfling. She could not bring herself to turn away, not now. _Why?_ She wondered, but it was a question she could not answer. She took a breath through her nose and pushed the door open, steeling herself for the sight that greeted her. The captive's skin was blotched with marks; dark, dark bruises, fresh wounds, glistening with blood that dripped and dribbled upon the floor. The small puddle that had been there was practically a miniature lake, and the scent of fire was thick in the air. Her entrance provoked no reaction from the halfling, whom appeared to barely breath.

Her heart clenched, and she closed the door behind herself as she stepped inside to confront the halfling. She made her way closer, tensed when she was in range of the halfling's feet, but the halfling didn't move, didn't flinch or growl or huff or... anything. The halfling did _nothing_. She hung there, like a rag doll. Alice was horrified to realize that Felix had been _right_ - the captive was _dead_, in a sense; she was a broken minded doll, no soul, no will to live -, she would have given in shortly. She realized this when she could reach out, tentatively tilt the head up, and that swollen, nearly indiscernible face stared back at her. Those black eyes were closed now, and they did not open. Her lips trembled with fear - fear for _her_ - and the blood started to slip between her lips, so she pressed them tightly together. Her hands shook, however, and she jerked away from the halfling, for fear of hurting her. _Oh God... she'll die...!_

Was it even worth it now, to save her? To try? Could she even stand it? Would it not be better of her to simply kill the halfling - even if she _did_ manage to survive, after what that _monster_ had done to her, would she even with to live...? But she had to try, she _had_ to. Her mouth was full of blood, her body was warm now, filled with _blood_. This could work. This _had_ to work. It was the only way, and if the halfling wished to die... then she would do it. But first she _had_ to try. And so, with a strengthened resolve, she reached out and tilted up the halfling head once more, prying her mouth open just slighty - the halfling twitched, one eye opened halfway as she weakly tried to shut her mouth, to no avail -, she paused, stroking one cheek apologetically, before she leaned up and pressed her mouth to the halfling's.

She pushed her tongue forward, into the halfling's mouth - _she does taste sweet...!_ - coating the inside with the blood she had held onto for this purpse, and then she withdrew, breathing heavily and wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. As she watched, the halfling froze - her heart began to pound, and it wasn't that sluggish death beat that had filled Alice with fear -, head still back, mouth still open. And then her head fell forward, and the swelling in her face was beginning to recede, and two glittering eyes met hers. A growl rumbled through the halfling's chest, and she leaned forward, her nose almost touching Alice's bloody shoulder. She seemed to hesitate, and for a moment, Alice had to marvel at it - _manners?_ -, but the moment ended and she stepped closer, one hand sliding up through the halfling's hair to lightly tug her forward, until her lips pulled back from her teeth, and her teeth sunk into Alice's shoulder.

The only way, it was really the _only_ way.

* * *

**So, my vamps I... see them almost as the 30 Days of Night vamps, almost, but not quite. They have in common the black eyes, but it will/can cover the whole eye - only when extremely emotional, or hungry, duh -, and also the multiple sharp teeth (but multiples really only come out in cases of extreme hunger). Only, I imagine the teeth larger. Cuz the 30 Days of Night teeth were little bitch teeth. **

**And hey, thanks you guys, for being cool and supportive. I'm still in shock about losing him, but it was... incredible that you guys were super nice. So thank you. Umm, if you wanna review, and I'm not saying you have to, but if you do, this is a long chapter to make up for the last one. I wanted to post it before the, uhh, well... I mean... the **_**service**_** honoring my uncle. I won't be much up to joining the world of the living afterwards, so I had to work to get this out. Ya know, before they delete my story. See y'all next time, if this isn't destroyed! ;3**

**Also, ignore this next part, it's just that message about FF BSing authors. I have to have it, it's just necessary. So if you are tired of seeing it, just don't look... that is, of course, believing that anyone reads my ANs... meh, whatever**

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**SAVE OUR STORIES AND SAVE THIS SITE**

**Do not hate me, I beleive this is VERY IMPORTANT:**

**As many others I disagree with what is now trying to do... I do want to keep my stories in this site, since I consider myself loyal and I've been here for many many years, 10, if you're wondering, and I find myself saddened by such actions. Instead of taking down those stories, the rating should be watched closely in order to prevent hurt feelings or beleifs! A disclaimer at the begining of the story is added for something, so if people keep reading despite the warnings, it must be because we want to!**

**It seems such a coincidence that Ray Bradbury has just passed away, you're burning our fics like his characters in "Farenheit 451" were burning books!**

**So if you like many of us writers and/or readers don't agree either, copy and paste this (what will be shown below) and add your name at the end of the list...**

**Also, you can sign the petition at / www . change petitions / fanfiction – net – stop – the – destruction – of – fanfiction - net (delete the spaces between words, or head to my profile and find there the link to the petition)**

**The administrators, as of June 4th, are going to be taking down Fics that have lemons or have extreme violence. Now I don't know about you but I think thats stupid. There are many wonderful fics that only have one or two lemons in them yet the plot itself is awesome! You can't just take down a 100,000 word fic just because it has a lemon in a chapter that is only 1000 words long. Now I urge you all to read the petition below, sign it, and repost this to your own fics. Hopefully if we make enough noise everything will return to normal. Thank you.**

**Greetings to the fine folk that moderate our site.**

**Myself, along with many, have been writing and posting on your fine site for years now, some of the better examples of up and coming writers out there are now suddenly finding some of the stories we've come to love at risk of being removed without the chance to even rectify our errors.**

**For some, that means the permanent loss of a story. While I don't have anything that I believe violates your terms of use, there are those out there that are never able to recover a story in its original form, this is something I find to be almost worthy of a legal action, as while we cannot claim ownership of a character, the stories are OURS and simply destroying them is something that is inexcusable.**

**It's quite easy to simply add an MA rating, additional filters or even a simple requirement for a free membership to read the stories presented here, and would cut down on hateful anonymous reviews and posts at the same time, so I have to question as to why such a thing, in all this time, simply wasn't added.**

**If you're worried about falsification of a registration then have an appropriate disclaimer and then there can be no dispute, you took your steps and the PARENTS didn't monitor their children, if that is even your concern. If it is more of a personal view or desire then please at least let people know and give them a chance to remove a story that you and yours find offensive, most people on the site are actually rather cordial when it comes to such requests.**

**While I cannot say for sure if this letter will even reach those that may be willing to listen, of if it's more akin to a wide spectrum purge in preparation for something bigger, please understand that you are going to be looseing a LARGE number of your writers, and thus your income from a lack of readers if there is not some level of action taken to help with this situation.**

**For those that may agree with this, please feel free to sign on and send this to the support server, maybe we can get some movement on this.**

**Psudocode_Samurai**

**Rocketman1728**

**dracohalo117**

**VFSNAKE**

**Agato the Venom Host**

**Jay Frost**

**SamCrow**

**Blood Brandy**

**Dusk666**

**Hisea Ori**

**The Dark Graven**

**BlackRevenant**

**Lord Orion Salazar Black**

**Sakusha Saelbu**

**Horocrux**

**socras01**

**Kumo no Makoto**

**Biskoff**

**Korraganitar the NightShadow**

**NightInk**

**Lazruth**

**ragnrock kyuubi**

**SpiritWriterXXX**

**Ace6151**

**FleeingReality**

**Harufu**

**Exiled crow**

**Slifer1988**

**Dee Laynter**

**Angeldoctor**

**Final Black Getsuga**

**ZamielRaizunto**

**Fenris187**

**blood enraged**

**arashiXnoXkami**

**Masane Amaha's King**

**Blueexorist**

**Nero Angelo Sparda**

**Uzunaru999**

**Harry1817**

**EarthDragonJd**

**WolfDragonGod**

**Jillbone**

**dsrtchck**

**Mad Hatter's Tea Party**

**Apocalyptic-Wasp**

**mOOca**

**Edger2deadly**

**xPaige Turnerx**

**HEALER**

**2koe**

**Secretly Immortal**


	7. Chapter 7

**There is a very detailed rape this chapter, so... yeah. So if you don't like it - and you won't, because she's getting raped - I humbly ask only that you don't flame me for it. This is my darkest story - where pregnant women kill their husbands, main characters are not safe from the clutches of death (cough, cough, look oooout... ), and the heroine gets raped. Remember that, the darkness that is this story, and turn away if you cannot handle it. But hey, just go down to the set of 888888888888 and that's where it stops, ya know... if you can't stomach the thought of reading what happens. Mind you, basically the whole of this chapter is the rape... so you'd be missing the whole of this chapter, but... whatever.**

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Her head is thrown back, and she screams, like she has refused to scream since the very first moment she was chained naked, and hanging from the fucking ceiling. She wouldn't scream, she just couldn't give them the pleasure of hearing it; she wouldn't let them know that what they were doing was more than just hurting her body, her pride was in shambles - she was _naked_ and being tortured by those disgusting freaks; they'd touched her skin, they'd spit on her, honestly the only thing they hadn't done was defecate on her. But now she screamed, she screamed for all she was worth, she screamed with every ounce of strength left in her body, and every breath in her lungs; she screamed, and arched and kicked and if she could have, she would have been clawing and scratching with all of her might.

But she couldn't.

A large, curved dagger had been thrust through both of her hands - Felix had gathered her hands in one of his, withdrawn a dagger from the recesses of his robe as he'd pinned her to the floor, and had shoved it as hard as he could through the meat and bone of her hands, right through her palms. The guard had thick, sharp spikes protruding from it, that she was pressing the heels of her palms into now; she was trying, as hard as she could, to ignore the pain and just rip her hands free, knowing full well they would never heal properly, but also knowing that _this_ - what was about to happen - could not happen. She couldn't allow it to. But alas, the pain was sharper than the dagger itself, searing through her. It wouldn't be so easy to pull her hands down forceful, and knowingly slice her hands nearly in half - it would be possible, indeed, but certainly not easy -; but besides that, with each desperate kick, with each scream, the energy she had grasped on to was failing her, leaving her high and dry, with Felix crouched over her, grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

_Something... pressing into her..._

And it was strange, she noted inwardly as tears she hadn't realized were glossed over the surface of her eyes began to overflow and trek down her slowly swelling cheeks, it was strange to her that she hadn't cried in so long. Years. Since she was five, and they'd killed her mother in cold blood. Since the war had started, and she had begun to travel. Since she was a babe. Shouldn't she have screamed and wailed and sobbed for days, weeks, months, _years_ on end after she'd had to watch them slit her throat and feast on her? Shouldn't she have woken up in the night, sweating, in tears, and lost herself in forlorn memories of the ghosts of her past? She hadn't, not since those first tears, she'd done none of that, and had honestly believed that she was incapable of crying - if you don't use certain muscles, they grow weak and can, eventually, stop working; so why now, she wondered, could she feel her chest shaking with the sobs that nearly rattled her body, why now could she not stop this degrading flow of tears?

_Because... something... COLD... pressing into her..._

The tears ran fatter, hotter down her bloated, discolored cheeks, and suddenly her struggles were more frantic, her sobs more whimpers and pleas than snarls and screams. She couldn't allow this to happen, dignity be _damned_! She would _NOT_ allow this to happen, not to her, not ever! _But what WAS happening?_ She'd... never experienced something of the sort - why yes, she knew of sex, she knew the mechanics of it, but she'd never actually literally... well, done _it_ before... But this wasn't right, this wasn't sex - something in her mind screamed that this was not making love, intercourse, copulation, or really anything else like this -; this was something entirely different, something on a whole new level of bad. She could feel it in the way that something - she swallows a sharp cry of fear - _cold_ was pressing into her leg, and that the sudden feeling of fear skyrocketed through the roof.

_She wasn't afraid, she was never afraid of anything. Not this asshole, not death, NOTHING._

But her lips trembled as she began to stumble out more desperate pleas, the sobs long gone but the tears still slipping down her cheeks, pink with the blood on her face - her blood, but she couldn't be bothered with it. She was too busy, too busy trying to implore this monster in cold, marble flesh to let go, get off, and just allow her to be miserable and crucified on the floor, such as she was now. This was enough, this pain she felt now was _enough_, she'd had enough; congrats were in order, he'd _fucking_ won, he beat her - literally - so he could stop now and back off and she would hang her head in defeat and give in to demands (or kill herself to keep secrets from them, at her earliest convenience). She would stop fighting so hard, she would stop resisting so much, she would act civil, and she-she would _eat_ if only he could just... just...

"_Stop_," It was a broken whisper he didn't listen to - and when had she been able to talk? Perhaps that last blow had knocked her jaw back into place, and the adrenaline coursing through her had healed it, because it was necessary for her to voice her displeasure. "_PLEASE, stop!_" And he laughed, and sat back - she shudders as something cold slides against her thigh with the motion -, smirking down at her, waiting for her to continue. She can see it in his eyes that he thinks this is funny beyond belief; he wants her to scream, she suddenly realizes, he wants to see that desperate look in her eyes. That look of fear that's suddenly freezing her brain and body - _what can she do?_ - that look of pure terror that she can see reflected back at her in the dark fullness of his eyes - _stop, please, STOP_ -, that look of utter defeat and the realization that everything is not alright, and everything will not be alright - _no, no, please, NO_ -, that look that he laughs at as he leans forward.

"It's too late," he whispers in her ear, and she shudders uncontrollably as the fear chokes off her breaths - she swears, for a moment, that she will either die from heart attack, or from her heart simply exploding within her chest from the speed at which it beats - and her brains tries to decipher the message. Too late? It's never too late! It was-it was easy! A-all he had to do was get off and go away; SO SIMPLE, so very _easy_ to do! "I told you; you shouldn't have kicked the head the feeds..." _NO! No, he couldn't DO this!_ It was evil, it was wrong - _so very wrong_ - and even she knew that _he_ had to be above this...

_Right? He would stop, he would STOP, HE HAD TO STOP!_

And then she screams, her back arches - not in pleasure, in excruciating pain - as he leans back down, over her, and thrusts, once. Something inside her breaks, tears, and it hurts, it _hurts_ so very much. The tears come faster, racing madly down her cheeks as the scream carries on and on, until her throat is sore, until - she is quite sure - her throat is bleeding, because she doesn't stop until her throat aches as much as that something inside her throbbing as Felix moves._ He's inside, oh god, he's inside. INSIDE. GET OUT! Get out - get out - get out - get out - get out - get out - get out -get out - get out - get out -GET OUT!_ _It hurt, it ached, it burned, it bled._ She was bleeding, and sobbing again, and he was _laughing_ in her face. _How could he? _This man, whom as a child, she was assured was supposed to be her big brother...

And he was... he was... doing _this_. She didn't know the word, she hadn't quite come across it yet in her travels, so she couldn't know what this was, she simply knew it was wrong, that it _hurt_ - _oh god, it hurt so much!_ - and that it was inherently _wrong_. Every part of this was wrong, was bad, and she wasn't stopping it. She was crying and sobbing. And she hated it, she hated herself, so she did the only thing she could think of. She snarled, let loose a sudden, desperate, animalistic screech and leaned up, sinking her teeth into the first flesh she came into contact with. She was blinded by fear, so much so that she'd no idea what she was biting - and honestly, she was so withdrawn into herself, she hardly noticed that she _was_ biting something. She was afraid, and her body had just moved and acted on its own in the absence of her stone will - it had crumbled long ago, as soon as the sobbing had begun - so she was only partially aware of the pained scream that resounded around the chamber as she flung her head back, taking a chunk of his pectorals with her.

"YOU STUPID CUNT!" She was, however, fully aware of the way he stopped his movements - _it still hurt, it still ached, her body still rejected whatever this was, and she still felt as if she would be sick, but all slightly less, now _- so that he could begin to beat and slap her. Blood was pouring from the side of her mouth, her lip was split - one of her cheeks was split too, but she hardly noticed for how much both cheeks throbbed - and her nose was broken and gushing. She was sure that she was bleeding from the ears too, and if she wasn't, when she snarled and snapped at his hands and he grabbed her head and started to slam it into the ground, she was quite sure they started bleeding then. When at last he stopped, she was barely breathing, her eyes were drooping low and she'd hardly any idea what was going on, who he was, who she was, or why everything hurt.

It was all brought back with a sick laugh and another thrust. Another sharp pain, tearing through her - _from where he TORE THROUGH HER_ - and a scream slipping past swollen, bleeding lips. Another hard slap and her head whips to the side; it isn't a scream the tumbles from her, but a sob. She's crying again, _why_ is she crying again, she's stronger than this, she's stronger than _him_. But as he groans and grips her hips, she comes to realize, quite suddenly and with a large bit of nausea twisting her empty stomach into painful knot, that she _isn't_ stronger than this, and that he, he is infinitely stronger than she is at this very moment in time. He had won. He had beaten her already. And yet he was doing this - _another groan, another wave of nausea as she turns her head, bites her bleeding lips and holds in the sobs wracking her body_ - because of some petty grudge he held against her.

_A Priest was raping her._

The word occurred to her quite suddenly. She knew, instinctively it seemed, that this word was the worst she could ever hear, the very worst.

_Her brother... was raping her._

But he wasn't her brother. Not now, not ever; she'd always hated him and he had always hated her, so perhaps this was inevitable. It had been set in stone - like the dagger set into the stone underneath her hands, the dagger that was set _into_ her hands. He wasn't her brother, and he was no angel - she knew the term had once been religious, had once meant something great and beautiful and shining and _holy_ -, oh no, he was something entirely different. He was the Devil.

_She was being raped... The Devil was raping her._

She needed something with wings, something that sings, she needed her angel. She needed her humming bird. She needed Alice.

_Alice, Alice, where was Alice? Why wasn't she here? ALICE! Alice should feel her, Alice should come. _

"Stop saying her name, you BITCH!" The hard punch brings her back to the world she had shut out from the safe haven of her mind. In this world, at this moment, there is no Alice come to save her, no angel carried on wings, with shiny dark hair, and that sweet scent, deliriously delicious tasting skin. There is no Alice for her, no safe haven; there is only Felix, and he is inside her, and he continues thrusting while she chokes on her own blood, and screams and tried to thrash. But now he thrusts, and continues to hit her. And it hurts, but somehow, she's very happy that he is beating her - it provides relief from the pain within her lower stomach; it's a distraction she's desperately needed. But he stops soon, and grasps her hips - his grip is bruising, and she can hear her bones creaking under the pressure - and thrusts _harder_. Each one, worse than the last.

Suddenly it isn't blood she's choking on. Only more sobs - _can she ever stop crying now?_ - because she understands that something is coming. Something bad. Something she does not like - oh, she's no idea what it is, or why she knows that it is nearing, but she knows, instinctively, that she hates it already. Felix's grip is tighter with each thrust, that something inside her tears more and more, and she bleeds upon him, upon his - _inwardly, she sneers distastefully at the term, but outwardly is too broken to do anything _- thrusting cock. This only helps him to piston in and out of her faster, and the shrill tone of her screams seems not to bother him - for once - as he goes harder and harder and _harder._ And then he groans again, like he had earlier, but somehow, completely unlike it.

She's filled with sickness and self-loathing, because something has happened, and he has gotten something that is _him_ inside of her. He pants, and stills, and she is grateful for that, but it is short-lived, because of that something - and she thinks of the term quickly, remembering conversations with Rosalie (an ache in her heart for the companion she's lost to these monsters) -, because of _his_ cum. The term has bile burning in her throat as she turns her cheek in shame and allows the tears to leak silently from her eyes; her sobs are gone, her throat is raw and bleeding, and she cannot utter another noise. She'd given him that satisfaction, but now that he had emptied himself in her, she refused. Or maybe, maybe she was simply too weak to.

The latter seems the more correct thought, because when he laughs, and murmurs something to her - something she doesn't catch, because she is dead, withdrawn into the deepest recesses in the darkest parts of her very soul - and pulls the dagger from her hands, she doesn't notice. She doesn't fight, doesn't move, hardly breaths as her eyes slide shut and her body goes limp. _He was inside her, he was no longer inside her, but his essence was INISDE HER. _She had lost. He had won. He had cemented his victory and power over her, and she was nothing. She was... _nothing._ A doll he stroked, fondled - some part of her brain noted it, but she hadn't the energy to respond - even now. He was looking for a reaction, but he received none. Not a whimper, not a whine, not a sob or shriek.

**888888888888**

"I told you, didn't I?" The words register, but she doesn't recognize them. It's as if he speaks in a language she once knew, but has forgotten. "I'd get rid of the fight left in you. And look at you now!" He's laughing when he withdraws from her, smirking, not minding the scar on his chest from her teeth - he knows the scars on her from him will run deeper, and it's extremely satisfying to know that he'll always be in her mind, now -, or the blood on his hands from her body. The blood on his still hard cock. He loves it, relishes in it. This is his, this body, it will forever be his, and he's made sure she'll _never_ forget. "You're weak. Pathetic. We should have killed you when you were born, but Marcus was so _fond_ of you!" He sneers, spits on her. She still does not stir. "Stupid bastard wouldn't even let us have our with his fucking Daemon _pet!_ And he'd get so offended when we got near you! So how's it feel, _Princess_, knowing that daddy's dead - and he was a murderer - mommy's the Daemon whore that fucked him, I'm the one that murdered her, and now I've gone and fucked you?"

No response, but he hadn't expected one. He hefts her up with a laugh, and drags her across the floor, back to the hanging chains. He pulls her up, until her toes are off the ground and she's partly above his head. His grip is bruising, punishing for no reason, except that it can be, and he enjoys the color on her pale skin, and he smiles sickly in her face. Her head hangs limply, her heart beats sluggishly, blood slides from the weeping wounds on her hands down her wrists to where he's holding her - it slides down his arm and he brings her closer so he can lick it up slowly, savoring the flavor. It's delicious, even if it smells like ash. He laughs again, as he steps over to the chains, shackles first one wrist, and then the other.

"I hope it hurts, _Princess_," he sneers at her. No response. But, again, he hadn't expected one. His laugh is deep and throaty as he turns and leaves the room, a smug smile on his face as he heads for the throne room. The King will be pleased to know, to _see_ that the halfling is done fighting. Felix should be rewarded handsomely, and who knows? Perhaps his reward will be the princess. His laugh echoes down the hallways; Daemon in cells in the next wing cringe and cry - they know that laugh, it is the laugh of the monster that takes one of them each day (sometimes, he returns them too, but they are never the same, and they soon die off) - and the sound reaches the halfling's ears. But she doesn't respond. She's no idea how long she hangs there - she is in her mind now, but her mind is blank, dark, and barren; it is no safe haven, and she will not ever find one again, she knows - but realizes when someone comes in.

She hasn't the energy to move. She hears a gasp (_words, perhaps?_), and the scent of her sweet bird washes over her, and it is soothing. But it does nothing for her. It soothes her soul, but her body aches, and her mind is in shambles. She cannot move, and honestly, she does not wish to. The only thing she honestly registers - before her little song bird returns to this dank cage - is that in hanging, Felix's essence drips down her thighs. It is a relief, one that she cannot sigh at, but one she inwardly notes. Weakly, subconsciously. She cannot recognize the relief fully, nor can she express it. She can't move - she isn't in control of her body, she lost that to _him_ - she can hardly breathe and honestly doesn't want to, but her body does so automatically, her heart beats and each beat reminds her that she is still alive, that Felix murdered her, but left her quite alive.

_The Devil is so cruel to her. The Gods hated her. The Daemon had lost her._

What was she, now, but useless? Why should she live, why should her heart beat? For what purpose was she still hanging here?

_A touch, on her cheek._

She almost draws back, but her body is not in her control, so she hangs there limply and does nothing. Does not open her eyes, does not speak or kick out, like she usually would. Besides that, she can smell that it is her angel. And she almost works up the will to look and see... but she does not, and somehow, she is not disappointed by it. She doesn't feel. Not really. Not anything. Except for her impending death. And she had never wanted to die - though she'd had only others to live for, and she is quite lost to them now - but she suddenly understands that death is such a gracious thing. It is calming. It washes over her in cool waves, slowly sucking the warmth from her finger tips and toes. She will die. And she is not afraid. She welcomes it with open arms, and if she could, with a smile on her face.

But she cannot. And when her mouth is touched, slowly, gently forced open, she finally stirs. She fears, though she is quite sure this is her song bird, that somehow, this is round two. That Felix has returned to stick that vile _thing_ down her throat and make her consume him. She tries to bite the hand touching her lips, tries to close her mouth, but she hasn't the energy. When her eyes crack open, she finds her angel - _Alice, her Alice; she is here now_, and the thought almost brings a fresh set of tears to her eyes - giving her this pained, apologetic look. Alice strokes her cheek, and she would lean into it, but she _still_ hasn't the energy to move. But Alice moves, not from her, but to her, and it is only when those soft, cool lips touch hers, and a tongue is forced in her mouth, along with something sweet, that she suddenly comes to realize that Alice, her sweet angel, is covered in blood.

_Blood_, she realizes_, is in her mouth._

_Th-thump._

Her heart beats.

_Th-thump._

She can hear it in her own ears, and it is loud.

_Th-thump._

Blood, rushing through her veins.

_Th-thump._

_BLOOD. _Her eyes open fully as the taste registers on her tongue, explodes across her taste buds, and she has never had such a treat, something so indescribably delicious. Her teeth are sharp, and ache to sink into warm flesh and suck and draw this essence into her body. Her body thrums with energy, with life, and warmth, and she wants _more_, she needs _more._ Or surely she will die from underexposure! She must _taste_, she must _FEED_! Her chest rumbles with a growl - _**feed me...**_ - as her head drops forward and eyes, fresh and bright, meet those of her prey -_**I need...**_- and she leans forward, to where there is blood decorating Alice's shoulder - _**to eat you whole.**_ She pauses, her lips twitching, wanting to draw back from her teeth, her breathing turning ragged as something inside of her protests.

_Daemon_, she realizes. It is her Daemon side. It screams at her, tells her this is Alice, her Alice, and to feed is wrong. But the scent is delicious. _Alice. This is Alice. She cannot hurt Alice._ A hand on the back of her head, Alice's body sliding closer, and she doesn't care then. Alice wants this. _She_ wants this. And she will have it. Her lips draw back from her teeth, and they sink into a cool, bloody shoulder. Her eyes slip closed and she draws the essence of life into her.

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**And done. Alright, so I thought it only fair that we got to see from B's point of view what was happening. And hey, maybe this will get a FEW reviews outta ya, huh? Because despite what I say (review only if you want to), I'm just bullshitting you. I'd really like for you to review. A lot. But if you hated how dark this was, and don't want to review because you'd just flame... then please, continue to not flame. But if I get more than one review this chapter... that would be awesome. Just sayin'.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Okay class, raise your hands to answer this question: What was the point of the rape last chapter? Hmm, anyone, anyone at all, OH, yes, you in the back *looks at class roster* mehstupidthings, your thoughts? *waits and listens to answer* CORRECT! It's about power! Power and revenge. And, if anyone has noticed, it has been alluded to the fact that Felix rapes a Daemon on an almost daily basis, for the power high. **

**But, anymore opinions on the effect that this shall have on Isabella? mehstupidthings? *waits and listens to answer again* Your opinions on this matter amaze me! You noticed that that was her very first taste of blood! And you dared to begin to analyze the psychological effects it will have on her! Already delirious from hunger, plus a rather wild-minded individual with a strong will, beaten and finally broken by such an atrocious action, will send her mind spiraling into the dark depths. This rape WAS necessary, and because it was gonna happen now, or later; it will also explain certain reactions she has to certain actions, which will come at later dates.**

**Now, to answer your question Guerrilla Warfare, which was a very good question (I wonder why Bella always wants to eat her, though.), that is because the first time it was said, it was of an explicitly sexual nature. But, after the ingestion of blood, she can smell the blood on Alice's skin, and it becomes something more hunger driven than anything.**

**And before I forget, Umm, Bella's too cool to go zombie this time. She's just lost her mind, is all. Thank you for your questions, class. ;3 **

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Alice gasped, shaking softly as those teeth sunk deeper into her, scraping against her collar bone, much like they had the first time, when she had been attacked out of fear. But now was different, now she had initiated the contact, the biting. Soft growls vibrated against her chest from the halfling's, and whimpers too - they spoke of pleasure, of fulfillment, of further hunger that made her knees weak. Or perhaps that weakness was because she was having her body drained. Blood and venom were a potent mix, one that too many Angels would not - no, _could not_ - indulge in; the taste was extreme, sharp and spicy, it would burn one alive in the best and worst of ways. She'd seen an Angel - a babe, not but a child to their world, young and delirious, and hungry, very hungry - once attack another, one of the Priests, no less. He had tried to drink of the Priest, and had but a few gulps before he fell off and back, screaming and writhing, clawing at his own throat. Venom was bad, venom and blood together were _bad_, they were thought to drive one mad or simply kill.

But here, _now_, her veins were being emptied; that blood she had gorged herself on, the blood that had mixed perfectly with her venom, was being happily taken from her. And nothing was happening, except for the gradual weakening of her own body. She felt small, fragile; she had given herself up in the greatest way possible. She had done what Angels shouldn't do, ever; she was doing what Angels didn't do, _ever_; she was giving her lifeblood to another, a bastard being that had once attempted to kill her, a bastard being that might very well kill her now. Her vision was fading in and out -_ Is it possible for Angels to faint?_ - and she had gripped thin, bony shoulders, once to pull them towards her, but now she was failing to push them away; how she did try, how she did squirm and try to pull back, but those teeth were long and sharp, they dug in deeper, and she whimpered and whined as legs wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer and holding her there.

"_P-please_," It was low, she could hardly even hear herself utter the word, and could only hope that perhaps, somehow, the halfling had heard her. She could only hope that, perhaps, the halfling knew - like the halfling had known her, somehow - what the word meant. _Please stop, I cannot TAKE it!_ It hurt, it felt deliciously wonderful, but, _oh!_ how it hurt! She was going limp, and feeling quite on the doorstep of her death - **_Fire, and ash, how fitting it should be that these scents greet me_** - when those legs went slack, and those teeth began to recede. It was slow, and in a way - she observed it all objectively, withdrawn into herself, no control over her body - it was almost gentle, this withdraw from her person, but the slight pain of it was enough to bring her attention back. She fell back, didn't bother to catch herself, and just lay there, breathing softly - and somehow, quite harshly - as she stared blindly up at the stone ceiling. The first thing she became aware of once her vision had returned - given a few minutes of rest -, was the strong, steady beat of a heart, hardly a foot from her. The second was the healthy - not ragged, not irregular, but quite healthy - breaths, taken by the same person whose heart was beating.

She lost herself in the sounds, closed her eyes to relish them, and dared to smile slightly at them. She had done it, she had succeeded; she had _saved_ _Her_. Her dead heart swelled with... happiness, and for a moment she had to marvel at it. How long had it been, since she had felt happy, _truly_ happy? She, for all her perfect memory was worth, could not recall. It should bother her, and yet it didn't. The first spot of light, in the darkness that had consumed her, and she had found it through her veritable death. How wonderfully ironic.

"You shouldn't have done that," Her eyes opened, her smile slowly melted away, but she didn't push herself up to face the captive. She heard a snarl, but she knew it was not aimed at her - how she knew? She couldn't say, but she just simply _knew_. Something within her, in a language she couldn't speak, but she could somehow understand, it let her know. _Was it Her?_

The snarl was followed by the steady increase of a heartbeat, and a harsh growl, a whimper of pain. Panting, the rattling of chains. Alice felt her body throb, especially her throat and chest, emphatically. And then, she _did_ know. She understood at last why her body had ached, constantly. They were, somehow, unexplainably, connected. She pushed herself up, and stared at the halfling - _But that wasn't right was it, she was... Leader_ -, at the Leader, with wide eyes. Those eyes that had gleamed darkly, manically at her before, where paler than she'd ever seen. They were brown, a very light brown - almost hazel, but not quite - and they were beautiful.

"What?" she wondered, pushing herself up more, into a sitting position, and lifting one hand to her head as she swayed dizzily. The Leader closed her eyes, her lips pulled back from gritting teeth as she hissed softly in pain.

"Fed me," she answered shortly, huffing and puffing as her chest ached. Now, Alice winced and rubbed at her own chest. She felt weak, and it was understandable with the blood she had just given, but somehow she felt strangely powerful. It resonated in her soul, and flowed through her limbs, and given a moment, she realized that it was not really she who felt powerful. The Leader opened her eyes, those beautiful brown eyes of hers, and something in them was beginning to disrupt that beauty. It was a burgundy, dirtying the brown; evidence of her strength. She was still emaciated, as she would be for some time, but she felt truly strong and powerful for the first time in weeks. She was back, and she was _much_ better than ever before, and every one of them - everyone but her song bird - would _pay_.

"Why?" Alice wondered once more, pushing herself up to stand on feet not quite steady. She stumbled a bit, and the Leader flinched towards her - she could tell by how the chains rattled - as if in an attempt to steady her, but ultimately just swung her body slightly towards Alice, while Alice managed to steady herself on her own. When she met the Leader's eyes once more, her own widened. The Leader's lips were pulled back in a sneer - not a spiteful one; she could see how amusement flashed in the burgundy-brown eyes, and she was shaking her head. It was... so refreshing, she found herself smiling widely. But that disappeared once it only served to annoy the Leader - she could tell it did, by the way her lips covered her teeth and pulled down in a frown.

"They will find out, and you will be defenseless," the Leader spat. The undertone of fury was not aimed at Alice, but it was there and obvious, despite her attempt to hide it from the seer. She reached forward without thinking, cupping a bony cheek, now warm and flushed with color and life. The Leader's furious, darkening eyes lightened instantly as she turned her head to nuzzle into the palm. A low rumble of content vibrated through her chest as she did so, and her eyes flickered back to Alice's face for a moment. Her face was relaxed, eyes warm, and expression... almost shy, when she met Alice's searching gaze. "_Thank you..._" she whispered after a few seconds had passed; Alice felt more than saw the light blush as the blood flooded her cheeks, and her own cheeks cooled in response.

"I would have done it for anyone..." Alice muttered, her hand falling away as she turned her cheek, strangely embarrassed.

"Would you?" The question - or was it a challenge? - went unanswered. _Would I?_ She wondered. Would she really have sacrificed herself for just anyone? And after a moment, she realized that she wouldn't have; that before Felix, she would not have lifted a finger. If Felix had done _it_ to anyone else, she would not have helped them. She felt sick with herself then, and turned her back to the Leader.

"_... No._"

"Only I?" She stiffened, and tried to spend a moment to think. But she couldn't. Within the same second, practically before the question was even fully out of the Leader's mouth, Alice was answering.

"Yes," She turned back to the Leader, gaze troubled and confused as she met those still strangely warm eyes. "Only you." And she gasped, her breath caught in her throat - with her unbeating heart - as a small smile briefly lit up the Leader's face. Her cheeks felt like glaciers in frozen waters when she turned her eyes away once more. The Leader grinned at her now, and Alice found her eyes drawn back for a moment.

"Well, ain't I something special?" She winked at Alice, who could hardly pull her eyes away from the woman in chains. _What a difference, to feed. _Like a completely different person.

"But you _are_," Alice insisted. "You are something very special." She took another step closer, as if she were going to allow the Leader to feed from her once again, but she did not tilt her head - and the Leader would be lying to say that she was not disappointed about it - to the side to allow the access to her neck. She was reaching up again, just as she had so many times before, and it somehow seemed such a regular thing; it was comforting in a way that she was not used to, but she accepted it and moved on, nuzzling the palm as Alice went to stroke her cheek, kissing the finger tips as Alice drew her hand back shyly. _Her angel, her humming bird, escaping the cage to bring her a taste of sweet honey._ As things were now, it was the only way she could show her appreciation for the actions taken to save her.

"And you are not?" she wondered lowly, watching Alice as she moved back, clutching that hand to her chest, her cheeks a pretty shade of pale, pale lavender. Alice grimaced softly and slowly shook her head in the negative. She was not special, she like every other Angel here, interesting, and therefore, worth the King's time to keep under lock and key. She was not special, she was a slave; she had just so happened to take pity on another and offered a hand, because... because she... couldn't stand by and watch, not any more. She was selfish, and she had done evil, vile things to please a lord she hated with every fiber of her being. She was sick and twisted. She was not something like the beautiful being - _she casts a glance behind her, filled with longing and pain_ - chained up, hanging from the ceiling. Covered in scars and beautiful all the same; body weak, sickeningly thin, and still that beauty seemed to resonate from her.

"_You_ are special; you have always been special. Were you not the child of the silent God?" Alice questioned curiously, knowing the answer very well, but needing it confirmed. She'd served the Gods before the Lord had staged his coup, and taken over, and she had observed the sadism that danced in the eyes of the two Gods, while only the third sat impassively, staring off into space, as if he was pondering the universe, and the state of being. He'd always seemed so withdrawn, so cool and collected and above it all, as if nothing of the world could touch him, and even if it did it would phase right through him. The Leader grimaced softly, shaking her head as if to deny the fact.

"Yes, I was," she hissed softly, turning her head from Alice. _But it was obvious, wasn't it?_ The only thing she had inherited from her mother was looks, everything else - her power, her mind, her cold heart - she had from her _sire._ He was no father, and she would not refer to him as such.

"Then you are all the more special! He loved no one, nothing; and yet he fell for your mother, and you were born, and he _loved_ yo-" The Leader growled sharply, her hands trembling as she balled them into tight, angry fists.

"Stop speaking of the dead!" she spat, glaring away from Alice. She was not angry at her song bird, merely angry at the mention of the man she did not get to kill. That was her duty, that was her _purpose_, and it had been stolen from her, like her dignity, like her people, like her mother. _EVERYTHING._ Gone, stolen, destroyed! _But one..._ The thought brought her some strange sense of peace, and when she looked back to Alice, she found the Angel to be biting her lip and shifting nervously from foot to foot. "Sing for me, won't you?" The request was quite sudden, and for a moment Alice wasn't sure how to respond. Her mouth was open slightly as her eyes roved around, looking troubled, searching for an appropriate answer. _Sing?_

"I..." She paused, swallowed unnecessarily, and looked down at her feet, shamefully, her cheeks colder than ice.

"You don't know how, do you?" Alice did not answer, and could feel venom gathering across the surface of her eyes, burning and biting. She didn't whimper, or whine, simply stood there, chagrin burning through her.

"I don't remember my Daemon life," she admitted after a few more, long, moments of silence. She didn't glance up, missed the warmth in burgundy-brown eyes, but she could feel it. Through that connection they shared, she could feel the acceptance, and finally managed to lift her head to chance a glance up at the Leader.

"Shall I teach you?" She blinked slowly, owlishly up at the softly smiling brunette, as the venom withdrew from her cheeks. And after a few more moments, they had cooled once again.

"I think I might like that..." she murmured, turning her cheek shyly. The Leader nodded, her smile spreading wider, before her body locked up suddenly, her smile dropping as her eyes were blown wide open. Alice glanced back at her, worriedly, catching the slight movement. "Wha-"

"Shh!" She offered Alice a short, frustrated look before she focused her gaze across the room, cocking her head as her eyes narrowed. _Something..._ "Someone's coming..."

"What?"

"Someone is coming here, two of them. You must leave," The thought brought her more pain than she would have imagined it might, but she fixed Alice with a stern, slightly startled gaze. She had not expected someone so soon, not after what had happened. Surely it was too soon for another session! Surely... surely _HE_ was not coming back for more... was he? The thought brought a snarl to her lips and a furious growl rumbling up through her chest. She would love to see him _try_ that again, because now, now she would destroy him. In the slowest way possible. She would tear his arms and legs off, leaving him immobile, and then she would rip his throat out, and reach inside of him to slowly take out every single part of him, one at a time, allow him to feel a ripping and rending inside of him, just as he had done to her. And once that was accomplished, she would rip off that _thing_ he had forced upon her, and assault his anus with it, quite happily, and for hours on end. Perhaps she would pull out his teeth, stuff into some organ, and then shove every organ back inside of him, allow him to feel how he tore himself apart, just as he had seen fit to do to her.

"How do you know?" Alice wondered glancing around nervously, cocking her head and concentrating, closing her eyes and straining her senses. _And there it was..._ She could just barely catch it, could just barely register the soft sound of light footsteps coming towards this wing of the fortress. But... how had the Leader heard it first? Alice was the Angel, her senses were _supposed_ to be superior!... Suddenly, she realized that there was much about this beautiful, beaten being that she did not know, had not bothered to venture a question. She turned her worried, fascinated gaze to the Leader, seeing how she was staring hard at the door, her eyes black and full, her canines long and the rest of her teeth beginning to drop down and sharpen.

"Leave," she tore her gaze from the door to fix Alice with a hard stare that had her flinching away slightly. Her gaze lightened for a moment, lips dropping back down over her teeth as she shook her head slowly, softly letting out a small breath, attempting to calm herself. "I implore you, _please_, you must leave this place now! Hide with the Daemon, I shall find you, and then we shall run!"

"What are you talki-"

"Hush, my little bird, fly from my cage, and I will set you free soon! I swear it." Alice looked unsure for a moment, glancing at the door - the steps were getting louder, and closer. If she didn't leave now she wouldn't have the chance to. Finally she nodded, and before the Leader could blink, her bird had flown away, down the hall, and into a room a few doors down from the one she had visited earlier. She would wait as long as she had to, for her Leader to come and save her. And she knew it was not wise to entertain such fantasies, but the look in those dark eyes had held such confidence and-and _affection_, the likes of which she had only ever experienced from her Brother, among the Angels. The one whom had betrayed the Daemon, totally and completely unwillingly. The Daemon she sat in the room with now. They were huddled against the far wall, and watched her quite fearfully, some shaking, while others whispered prayers - _and it was odd, that she knew the word, but had not an inkling of what it was worth, or why they did it now_.

She ignored it for the most part, though, offering only one small, sad glance their way - which they could not even see in the darkened room - and instead focused on that which she could hear form a few halls over.

* * *

"I don't like it!" Alec hissed softly to Demetri, frowning harshly. He was uncomfortable being in the same room with a being that smelled of fire and ash, and besides that, he couldn't stand to look in her eyes without feeling the guilt of betraying the old Gods by worshipping this new Lord. But he could hardly help it! So many of the Priests supported him, because he allowed them to do as they pleased, such as handling the Daemon like Felix would. Or, well, used to. Alec strongly doubted that Felix would recover from the damage that had been done, despite that his body had not been burned, it just... it couldn't be possible for him to put himself back together, after the ripping, rending, tearing job that Alice had done on him. And if he were to be perfectly honest, he did believe that Felix deserved it.

It was one thing to treat the Daemon like cattle - they were food, to be treated like food was simply the way that things worked around here - but here Felix was, day in and day out, indulging in pleasures of the flesh, with a veritable sandwich! It was disgusting and degrading to them all. And besides that, he had touched the Princess, the Lord, God Marcus's own flesh and blood. The child he had adored, the daughter he had attempted to dote on. But she had never liked him, she had never really liked any of them, because she knew she was different, and she was smart; she knew that a war was being waged between Daemon and Angel, knew that she rightly didn't belong to either side, and she resented her father for being a part of her genetic make-up, thus forcing her to be in-between. The one thing, though, that she hated about them, about _Him_ (her father) most of all, was the fact that because of her birth, _She_ had been the start of the war.

"Well, you heard how he bragged, and you know that the King must be assured of the truth of Felix's words. We _must_," Demetri sighed. He hardly liked it, because it was such a tiresome chore, but he'd do it if he had to... Unfortunately, he had to. He had better things to do than to watch Alec attempt to get information out of a soulless being.

"I _still_ don't like it! You know what Felix did was sick! That's our sister!"

"Correction, that _was_ our sister. She ran away, she cast aside the family; she is no longer a part of us," he stated logically as they came to a stop in front of the door. "And that's going on the assumption that she was a part of us to begin with, which we both know she was not." He paused to listen to the sound of her heart beating - it was strangely strong, but he brushed the thought off. She wasn't dead yet, and that was a good thing, because if she had ended up dead, the King would have been wholly displeased, and Felix wouldn't have been punished for it, since he was no longer a part of the world. So, the King would have taken it out on them. And he did not want to be in the Princess's position, hanging in Angel-proof chains, hungry and malnourished and tortured.

Alec grumbled under his breath as he pushed the door open, stepping inside and glancing in the direction of the halfling. He glanced back at Demetri to respond to his earlier statement, when the realization of something inherently different about the hanging halfling registered in his head. Like, for instance, that she was not hanging there. His head whipped around, Demetri following his gaze - his eyes were blown wide open as his jaw dropped down - to find what was so fascinating. The halfling was not hanging from the low ceiling as she had been the last time they'd seen her, and Demetri had to blink a few times to make sure what he saw was true; the halfling, her feet planted on the ceiling, had the chains wrapped a few times around her arms, which were shaking, and he could only guess it was because she was holding herself upside down to the ceiling.

He had to wonder how she had managed for her feet to touch the ceiling in the first place, but the thought couldn't drift too long. He was caught in a full, black gaze, and he expected to see the hunger and anger in her eyes that had been present every time he had seen her over the handful of weeks she had been here, but all he could see was triumph and amusement glittering in the black depths. Suddenly, she was chuckling, and her lips pulled back from teeth gleaming and dripping with bloody saliva as she grinned at them. She looked ready to eat them, or tear them apart, or laugh in their faces. He would venture to say she looked ready to do all three, and there she was, her chuckle rising into a loud, dark laugh filled with pain and promise. _She was gonna get them._

"You boys look surprised, and that's too bad," Suddenly, she flexed her arms - a vein popped out on her neck as her jaw clenched - and with a combination of a snarl and a grunt, she ripped the chains from the ceiling. She fell shortly, and flipped, landing gracefully in a crouch, her head down, hair covering her face from view as she balanced herself with one hand on the floor. They froze up in shock, hardly noticing the racket of stones falling and hitting the floor, or the sound of the thick, heavy chains sliding across the floor as she slowly began to rise. And then she whipped her head back, the hair out of her face, and the grin she tossed their way was absolutely crazed, her eyes wild and her body practically vibrating with blood lust and energy. "Because you're _really_ gonna hate this surprise." She drew her arms up, as if they were wings, and she were a phoenix rising from the ashes; she gripped at the chains, twisting her wrist once to wrap them around her arms, to give her a bit more control over them, and then she swung her arms out and around.

The ends of the chains were heavy with large chunks of the stone ceiling, and when they smashed into the two Priests, it sent them flying into the wall. The wall cracked ominously, before rumbling softly and simply crumbling down on them. She was laughing as she stepped closer, shoved her hand through the pile and felt around for a bit, before she picked Demetri up, and smiled with sick glee in his face.

"P-princess, please..." Demetri stumbled out without realizing. She frowned suddenly, and began to snarl at him.

"How dare you!" She reached up, taking hold of his lower jaw, slipping her fingers up over the curve of his jaw, and when he began to stutter something out, she hooked her fingers in his mouth. She tightened her grip and pulled back sharply. _C-craack._ "I hate to do it, _bro_-" The smirk she gave him as venom tears burned in his eyes and he began to gurgle and shriek was perfectly menacing; _she'd heard what he'd said earlier_, he knew somehow, and knew that this was almost a revenge. "But you're just too valuable to let live!" She put pressure on the jaw she held in her hands - blood rushed up from where his teeth sank into her -, snarling as she flexed her hand and crushed the teeth. He sobbed messily as he watched her change her grip, slowly crushing his bottom jaw. She was promising to crush him slowly - Angel's weakness was fire, but they could just as easily die from being grinded to dust (if only someone could exert the force necessary to).

"Isabella!" She turned to glare at Alec as he lifted himself from the rubble, his eyes dark with fear. His gaze was pleading as he whimpered softly and shifted his foot forward. She growled at him. _Please!_ She snorted and shook her head, turning her gaze back to Demetri, who was beginning to squirm. She grabbed one arm and tore it off, _easily, _and smiled to do so, especially when Alec's soft whimpers turned into a low whine - _he knew his betters_ - but stayed where he stood, shaking softly.

"Leave now, Alec, or you're next." She was still smiling, but she gave him one serious glance. He swallowed, winced as she tore off Demetri's other arm, tossed it over her shoulder without a glance - he ducked, of course - and after a few long moments of hesitating, he left; a low apology shot towards Demetri on his lips. She tossed the armless Demetri to her other hand, catching him by a shoulder - she dug her nails into the flesh to keep him from struggling, and giggled innocently when he began to kick at her - and lifting him high above her head. "Oh, stop squirming you big baby!" She grabbed him at the knee, squeezing threateningly - he cried now, and she never knew that Angels _could_ cry (they were tears of venom, drops of blood mixing in as the venom burned his eyes) - before she pushed in sharply.

_SNAP._

He shrieked, _but_, she noted, _he did stop kicking._ Which was good; it made it easier to rip his legs off. She did so quickly, tossing them behind her as she finally dropped Demetri's dismembered torso to the ground. She wiped her hands with a satisfied smirk, before she bent down and tugged on his cloak, still clinging to his body. She kicked at him - and wouldn't you know, she managed to kick him _right_ between the legs - and his torso eventually rolled out. She straightened up, the sleeveless garment in her hands, and studied it with pursed lips. _This could work very nicely. _She put it on, smiling brightly and pulling it about herself. _Perfect!_ Well, at least now she could say that Demetri hadn't been _all_ worthless. And maybe, maybe she could just go ahead and drain him, since, as it turned out, she _did_ have that ability to consume Angels..._ No._ She frowned, but the thought was quite adamant.

She would not feed from him. She would not feed _period._ It was unnecessary.

"Which makes you totally useless!" She sneered down at Demetri, before she squatted down in front of him gesturing at him wildly as she continued on. "I mean, look at you; you're simply falling apart!" She threw her head back and laughed, while she grabbed his hip and dragged him closer. Next, it was his neck she grabbed onto, pushing down hard and smashing through his throat, effectively tearing his head off. She stood up, tossing his head from one hand to the next. "Poor bastard." she sighed now as she held him in her right hand, getting a good grip on his upper jaw with her left. She pushed hard, crushing his head with a grunt. She'd no problem with him being an ass; he'd always sort of been an ass, but if only he hadn't had _that_ power, she wouldn't have had to kill him like she did. She could have just torn him apart. _Oh well_, she shrugged, shaking her head with a soft sigh as she stepped over his torso and left the chamber she'd been in for too long.

She blinked, turning her head left first, and then right, _slowly_, taking in all the doors leading down one way, and then the other. _Alice wasn't here._ She sniffed the air delicately and caught the scent - _Alice and blood_ - of her humming bird. She smiled as she turned and started right, going down the hallway at a slow, silent run. Slow, of course, meant that she was still visible to the naked eye; run meant she was just _barely_ visible to the naked eye. Her trail ended a short, five seconds later when she came to a door down another two hallways; she could hear the crying Daemon, and her heart clenched painfully. _Her people!_ She pushed the door open slowly, peaking inside. Alice sat, her back to the wall, just a few feet from the door. She was hugging her knees to her chest, and had her chin on her knees, but looked up with a smile when Isabella poked her head inside.

"You're okay...!" Alice hardly dared to breathe; the Daemon were so afraid of her, and she somehow couldn't stand that she was such a feared being. She couldn't remember what it was like to be a Daemon... but she wished she did...

"Of course," Her grin was easy going; it was such a strange sight that Alice had a blink a few times, before she smiled slightly in return. Somehow, that grin seemed oddly dark. "Now, come! We must leave."

"But..." Alice glanced at the Daemon across the room for a moment, before she looked pleadingly to the Leader. She shook her head, a grim frown on her face.

"The group would be too large, we would be caught. And besides that, there is nothing I can do for them," People like them, in the state they were in, would be used for bait. In the state _she_ was in, she would be used for bait. She just happened to be important enough to waste all the extra effort on to nurse back to health. She held out her hand for Alice. "Come."

"How will we escape?" Alice wondered, even as she took the Leader's hand and allowed herself to be pulled up and out of the room - they left the door wide open - and down the hall. The Leader was smirking to herself, remembering her childhood, when she had run through all of these halls; she knew every secret tunnel, passage, and hidey-hole around this damn place. She paused as she pulled Alice along the corridor, reaching out and gripping a stone. She adjusted her grip, before she yanked it out. "What are you-" The Leader guided her a few steps back as the wall rumbled softly, before slowly swinging out. "How did you-"

"I didn't spend my childhood here twiddling my thumbs," The Leader interrupted, as she stepped over to the front of the door-wall, sticking the stone back into it. Something clicked and the wall began to recede, so she quickly escorted Alice inside the secret tunnel and began to lead her through the dark. "Once we're out, we'll be heading south. We will run until we hit a city. It'll be easy to get back to my base then. Just stick close; you'll stick out, and if you aren't near me, they'll kill you."

"Daemon or Angels?" Alice grumbled bitterly, rhetorically.

"Both." Her answer rang out clearly in the dark, and she frowned, but chose to remain silent.

* * *

**Alright, I'm done for now... heheh, I got this out quick. Half of it was already written, honestly. This _was_ gonna be chapter 7... but I changed my mind, put in my AN's, finished the last half, and here it is! Super early. The fact that I did a wake-n-bake to trippy ass music has nothing to do with how early this got out, I swear. That being said, Guerrilla Warfare, thank you for your wonderful comments, every chapter. You were the only one to review for chapter 6, and your review this time was _definitely_ worth two! **

**So, do what you want (cough, cough, modest way of begging for reviews, cough, cough) and I'll see y'all next time. We'll be visiting the home base then, see how Rosie's handling all the pressure of being the money boss - sorry, American Colony: meet the Hutterites is a great show (GO CLAUDIA!) - and Alice and B have finally escaped, yay! ^^ **


	9. Chapter 9

**The only reason this is being updated: IT'S HALLOWEEN DAMN IT! What gives with the lack of updates!? THAT'S NOT COOL. And if I get a complaint about my lack of updates for 'Ray'… seriously, don't even go there. I'm being a nerd and actually giving a fuck about school, but I've been working on TGC'R' as much as I can. Writer's block, bitches, get used to it. Anyway, if you want to forgive my mistakes, that would be really cool, and I totally would not complain… just sayin'**

* * *

_Inhale._

The scent of unwashed flesh danced across the surface of her tongue, and she had to resist the urge to curl her lip as the stench burned itself into her memory. She wished she could forget it, wished that it were possible for her kind to forget anything - _but then again, she supposed it would be quite useless if she forgot EVERYTHING, like she so very wished to._ Despite it though, and herself, she wished that she could lose just this one instance in the vast ocean of her memory; she wanted to drown it in the endless pains she had suffered in her life, never for it to resurface.

_Exhale._

But that wouldn't be possible, because with her very next breath, the sharp scent and disturbing tang would return, and she would go through the same painstaking process of considering herself, her vast memory, and her inability to do a damned thing about it all. How useless it was to be strong, fast, beautiful, in a world where there existed so many who were stronger, and faster - and never mind the fact that beauty held no sway these days. Beauty was enough to make you a target, for who knew what hid beneath a pretty face and gleaming smile? A monster, usually, a very fierce one that would rip, and rend, and tear you apart, and then move on to kill your family and rape your children.

_Inhale._

She couldn't tell if the scent her brain was currently processing was what was making her sick, or if the thought that too many times she had been forced to help in the ripping, rending, tearing, killing, and _everything_ was the culprit behind the roiling in her gut. She would wager a guess that it was a combination of the two.

"Alice," She glanced up at the bedraggled, emaciated woman pulling her along through the snowy forest they were in at the moment. Her eyes were wide and dark - _crazed?_ - and she had to take a few moments just to study them before she could respond. Somehow, this all felt very surreal, as if they had never escaped that horrid place that had been a cage for her just as much as it had been for the sickeningly thin woman in front of her; she had to wonder if this was somehow all just a dream and she would wake up to those evil, beady, crimson eyes that seemed to gleam from the darkest corners of her quarters, even when she knew she was quite alone.

"Leader?" Alice answered questioningly in return after a few more moments of just watching her. It seemed she would forever be regarded with judging eyes, looking upon her as they might look upon a rabid, cornered animal._ Good. _It would do everyone quite well to be cautious of her. _Especially her humming bird._ She could still feel that strange, unnatural power flowing through her limbs - though her limbs _were_ quite tired - and she wasn't quite sure just how much damage she could do right now.

"Do you tire?" she asked gently as she slowed her steps from the supernaturally paced run to a slower, more mild jog, and finally to a full stop. Alice hesitated to answer for a moment before she slowly shook her head. "Do you... hunger?" This time, the pause carried on as Alice's eyes roved around; seemingly to avoid meeting her own dark gaze. She knew it was dark, because while that power was still quite present in her limbs, she could still feel the wear and tear that had been going on underneath her skin for the past hour. She'd pushed herself too far, her muscles had torn and healed countless times over already; bruises had blossomed all along the length of her legs, but she had been rather focused on the need to leave the vicinity of that hell hole her father had deemed a lair.

After the wind had howled hollowly in her ears for a few longs moments, and the cold had bitten at her exposed arms - she had the hood of the arm-less robe pulled up over her head, and it was quite long to begin with - for a few _longer_ moments, Alice finally saw fit to dip her head in a single nod. Her cheeks were that pretty, pale lavender the Leader loved to see, and she stepped closer to cup that pretty, pale, angelic face and caress the cool skin. It seemed strangely soft to her probing fingers, and she couldn't resist the small, delighted smile that lit up her thin face as those pale cheeks turned just a _shade_ darker.

"And what of you?" Alice shrugged back almost reluctantly, as if fearing the reaction she'd get from such an action. The Leader's hands fell back to her side as her lips drew involuntarily back from her sharply pointed, elongated teeth. Her laugh was intermixed with a feral growl, matching the feral grin, as she nodded.

"Of course. I'm only Daemon, aren't I?" The question sounded strange, and Alice hesitated to answer it. "Come." The Leader turned from Alice and began to slowly make her way through the snow, somehow managing to keep the _crunch_ of her footsteps low and infrequent; to the point even Alice had trouble keeping track of her movements. "Let us hunt."

_Hunt? Hunt WHAT, exactly?_

The Leader paused, turning her head slightly to eye Alice, her brows furrowed curiously.

"You are not... familiar with hunting?" Alice licked her lips, before her teeth sunk into her lower lip and she began to worry it. She avoided the curious, non-judging eyes watching her, waiting for her response, before she finally broke down and glanced shyly at the Leader.

"Only... only Daemon..."

"I see..." The Leader blinked slowly before her expression smoothed out and she nodded, turning again and beginning to move through the snow so that she made _no_ noise. "Stay here, I shall return," she murmured lowly, her voice carrying to Alice's sensitive ears on the winds whipping her short hair wildly around her head.

"How can you...?" The Leader was gone before Alice could even finish asking her question, which only left her with more questions. Wearing all black, how could she possibly disappear that quickly in the snowy terrain? That weak with hunger and lack of proper care for the better part of a month (if not _two_), how could she possibly maneuver around so very well? As far as Alice had understood, the Leader was only _half_ Angel. So how was it possible that she was so very strong? _How was it possible that they'd even managed to capture her in the first place?_

But Alice's Brother had been very open with her on the details of the operation, that surprise ambush to ambush the ambush that had been waiting for the movement of the Divine. He'd told her that he had once been a part of that very organization that now fought - tooth and nail - against the Angel forces; he'd told her that he'd been very close to the Leader once, and that his sudden reappearance, and as an Angel, had been enough of a shock to knock her off of her usual game. She had been confused, and hurt (and if she were to believe correctly, the Leader had been much more hurt by the revelation than confused) and had failed to properly deal with the emotions before she engaged him in combat.

The Leader, so she had been told, was an extremely emotional person, more so than any would ever think of her. She knew how to hide her own while riling up the emotions of those around her; she knew how to use her own bitter hatred for the better (against Angels), and she knew how to control her emotions, usually. But she was also a creature concerned with the whole; her company was her life, and that he had been part of her company and had so willingly (in her eyes) betrayed them all was a blow so low and sharp it was a wonder she'd managed to recover enough to attack him at all.

Now, it was a wonder she had been able to be so active as she had been. She was disgustingly, sickeningly thin; the phrase _skin and bones_ would not be much of an exaggeration in any way - so how was she able to function now? The words Alice had spoken earlier came to her quite suddenly, and she had to agree with the thought: _the Leader was special; she had ALWAYS been special._

* * *

_Fuck._

She lurched forward, hitting her knees against snow-hidden rocks - the cold piercing through her just as easily as the rocks did the thin skin covering her knees - as her whole body tensed up, just before she heaved. She choked and coughed up the... something that had been in her belly. It was black, an almost tar-like substance that smelled of death and left a strangely sweet taste in her mouth. It took a few more moments of spitting it up, watching it splatter and spray across the virgin snow, before she realized what the substance was.

_Blood._

She coughed weakly then, panting as she sat back, staring up at the gray sky, watching her breaths puff out in small clouds that dissolved in seconds. She reached up, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand, and squinting at the streaks the blood(?) left on her. She sniffed it gingerly - it smelled exactly of death, of dead Daemon - and licked it off curiously, but screwed her nose up in disgust at the taste. It was sweet, yes, but somehow also quite bitter. She spit it out, only to find that her spit was now black. Swiping her tongue around her mouth, across her teeth, she spit once more, with the same result. _So this was what happened to blood once its nutrients had been absorbed?_

How disgusting. She was quite glad she'd never partook of it before. _But was she really?_ No, that would be a lie. She knew the result of using the energy blood brought to her - a violent upheaval of the stuff (_shit, she liked to think of it_) - and she knew that she rather liked that result. It was power, the likes of which she hadn't known she'd possessed, the likes of which she hadn't realized she'd very much like to continue to possess; but power corrupted. And absolute power, like she had grasped for those few choice hours of running, corrupted absolutely. It was evident in the way the black colour slashed painfully against her senses, standing out against the snow.

The colour (or was it lack thereof?) was not new to her, but in the bright, white landscape, it seemed suddenly different. This was not a natural darkness. _This _was bad. _It was the result of feasting on her people, even if indirectly._ She snarled her displeasure at the thought, the sound soon lost in the wild, roaring wind and dancing snowflakes that chilled her half-dead body. Swallowing what old blood was still on her tongue, she pushed herself up from the ground, swaying dizzily. She lifted a hand to her head, squeezing her eyes shut tight and trying to fight off the vertigo.

_And then she heard a growl..._

Her own rumbled up through her chest as her lips pulled back from her teeth and she whipped around, eyes wide open and gleaming with new found energy and - dare she think it? - excitement. It had been too long since the very last time she'd had a good hunt in the frozen wilderness of a northern winter, and the lynx that had stepped out of hiding, attempting to threaten her now, was too good a chance to pass up. It was regarding her curiously, and when she took a slow step forward, eyeing it like a piece of meat (and to her, that was really all it was), it hissed, lips drawing back from teeth. She chuckled at the familiarity of it all, before she let out a terrible, thundering growl that shook snow from the branches over her head.

When the sound registered in the lynx's ears, it turned tail and fled, but with another low chuckle, she quickly followed after. _This wouldn't take very long_. She smiled to herself as she caught up to the creature, snarling with glee as it turned around suddenly and swiped at her, claws tearing through the flesh on her exposed arms easily as she raised them to protect her face. She grinned widely and struck back, much too quickly for the lynx to even _see_, tearing the fur, flesh, and muscle just as easily as the lynx had. With a yowl, the creature stumbled back, blood pouring from a wide wound on its chest. _Damn, she'd missed the jugular._ Oh well, she could easily right that small mistake. She lunged forward with a triumphant roar, catching the lynx around the neck and sending them both back into the snow.

The proud cat still growled and hissed, clawing at her chest just as she had clawed at its chest, but before it could do any lasting damage - not that anything could catch her too much through the fabric of the robe (and even if it could, the overlapping scars would hide the damage quite well) - she'd quickly bent her neck, sunk her teeth into the soft throat column, and reared her head back. The blood sprayed out immediately, her pupils dilating to encompass the whole of her eye as the blood from the hunk of meat clenched tightly between her teeth filled her mouth. She swallowed reflexively, and then bit down harder to get more of the blood filling her mouth.

She moaned almost inaudibly, trembling lightly as she began to chew on the furry piece of muscle tissue she'd torn out, not noticing - or simply not caring - that the lynx was slowly bleeding to death below her. She could have ended it quickly, after all, she was not _really_ such a cruel person as she had often been driven to be in her line of work, but she could hardly focus on its pain or its imminent death as she licked her lips, swallowing the bloody, furry mess in her mouth, shivering as she felt energy flow back into her sore limbs. Even as the light died from the lynx's eyes, she closed her eyes, bent her head, and sunk her teeth into the soft, bloody, fleshy area around the gaping wound of the throat she had torn out, and began to feast.

Soon, she opened her eyes, watching herself eat at the creature she had just killed, the creature she had not bothered to skin, or cook, or clean. The splash of colors across the snow, the vivid red melting through the white, tinges of pink, gray, brown as the earth was exposed due to the heat of the body she had taken down. As she tore the skin, slowly, peeling it back with her teeth, it glistened; pink, red, purple - _like a sunset_, something she hadn't bothered to take notice of in quite a long time - and the taste of it all was almost as wondrous as the colors. Salt, meat, _life_; she could literally taste the life on her tongue, and it was this fantastic concoction that went without description. But the flavor on her tongue was almost magical, and she had to close her eyes to savor once more, colours bursting behind her closed lids as she slowly chewed and swallowed.

She could feel the chunk of meat as it slid down her throat, strengthening her, soothing her ravaged body. Somehow, this felt incredibly right, this animalistic exchange of energies. Never before had eating seemed so... _powerful_. But... this was not eating, it occurred to her that she was not _eating_, so much as feasting, so much as _consuming_ this once-powerful creature. It felt... astonishingly good, hauntingly, deliciously, _good._ She moaned, quite loudly now, as she tore a long strip of skin from the lynx with her nails, bent and sunk her teeth into the vibrant red of the tough muscle exposed to her. _Is this what she had been missing while pretending to be Daemon?_ When she had denied how much she craved blood - she always had, every second of every day, but had used the need for flesh and violence and the spray of blood across her skin to encourage her hunting of Angels -, she had deprived herself of... _this._

She felt some strange sense of... something... _something_ she'd never known before. It wasn't power - though that had to do with it - it was a _something_ that felt very... strangely unsatisfying... something that coiled in her stomach, _no_, something in her lower stomach. It was heat. Unexplainable, undeniable, _demanding_ heat. She shivered despite how warm her body felt, pausing as she swallowed another mouthful of raw, bloody flesh, taking a moment to consider this heat and the slight pain that was beginning to throb through her body. Her body twitched, head cocking to the side as wild eyes narrowed; she inhaled slowly, growling lowly when that proved unsatisfying to her.

"Where are you, sweet song bird?" she wondered aloud, her mouth opening in a feral, bloody grin. Saliva, tinged pink, dripped from her still very sharp teeth as she tipped her head back and inhaled once more, tasting the air. She closed her eyes, her face smoothing out into an expression of serenity as she cast out her senses, searching for her humming bird. The taste of _Alice_ was still quite vivid in her mind, and she could feel the presence of the Priest within her - she had some sort of knowing that it _always_ would be, now - and found her quite shortly. She blinked open pale brown eyes, a slight swirl of orange tainting the colour now instead of that awful red, and a small smile tilted up her lips.

She stood from the carnage she had been kneeling in, blind to the blood she had bathed herself in, how it dripped down her chin and from her fingertips. Each step she took was painted in deep crimson, and she stunk so heavily of the carnage that it managed to actually mask that terrible stench of infection, sickness, and ash that had clung to her skin previously. And perhaps that was the reason she was able to sneak up on her humming bird so easily - because she did not smell of herself -, or perhaps she was simply that silent when she moved; nevertheless, when she managed to make her way through the snow, back to where Alice was, she knew that she had managed to do so without the Priest taking notice of her presence. Mostly for the fact that Alice hadn't acknowledged her return, too distracted by the Daemon pointing a flame gun at her

And he would regret that.

* * *

**FUCKING FUCKERY! I can't think of what else to write... Damn it. Alright, deal with this. Ta-freakin-da. Don't give two shits if you review, because I look hot as shit today and it makes the planets align, so... IDGAF! WOOOOOOO!... I'm very hyper... so uh... bye.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Forgive mistakes? Please and thanks.**

* * *

Emmett McCarthy was a simple man. Or so he liked to think of himself as such. He was modest and humble, playful and loyal, but at the heart of that which made him who he was, he really was just a simple man. He didn't have any really special talents or abilities to brag about; he wasn't smart like one of the scientists in his base; he didn't have knowledge of healing and the human body like the handful of doctors in his base; he couldn't make weapons or advances in armor. He was really just a very plain, normal man. In fact, there was only one thing he could boast that was even the remotest bit 'special', and that was only that he was one of - if not _THE _- strongest man in his base. Or, well, really he was just the strongest Daemon.

Which made even that specialty of his seem quiet dull. Because his base was full of people that were special and exciting: it was probably the only faction of Daemon rebels that had Angels working with them, alongside them, in order to take down the Divine Beings. They'd first recruited a girl, named Maggie, that had the ability to detect lies. And she'd told them her sad story, of accidentally killing someone she'd cared for when she was a young Angel, back in the days when they were _vampires_ and the Daemon were _humans._ It'd been a stretch, but they'd given her a chance, and she'd been immeasurably useful since. She'd never hesitated to kill her own kind, nor protect a fallen Daemon - their death rates per scouting mission had dropped exponentially. And she proved quite accomplished in recruiting more Angel allies to fight on their side. She could always tell when they were genuine in their want to help the Daemon, and she had told the leader of this deep northern faction the few times that one of the Angel's became something of a liability.

Next to all of that, he was not special. Although he could admit he had been nervous when a Fallen had become Commander a few years back, he'd grown to be actually comfortable around them - and favored by a few, strangely enough. He trusted them more than most could, despite all the good they'd done so far; he could only guess they could sense that, and appreciated it, or something like that. _Maybe 'or something' more than anything... _He _did_ willingly go out on patrol with them, after all. Like now, for instance, he was out patrolling with the Commander herself! Her name was Tanya, and as far as he'd been led to believe, she was one of the last surviving ancients of Angel kind. Likewise for those companions that she'd shown up with, after Maggie had somehow gotten word to them of a safe haven for the Fallen few.

But Tanya had slipped away from him a few minutes ago, mumbling some excuse about someone... it was odd, but she'd said, "Someone's ringing the dinner bell..." and had walked away as if that made any sort of remote sense. And now he'd stumbled upon an Angel. One he didn't know, one that stood in stark contrast with the snowy landscape, thanks to the splatters of blood painting her body. She is barefoot, wearing what was once a pristine white tank top, a pair of dark trousers stained darker with blood. Emmett McCarthy was a simple man, not a simpleton - he could see the red ring in her eyes, very well, and knew that this was no peace seeker. He'd trained his gun on her before she'd even time to blink, but for some reason he didn't quite know, he paused before squeezing the trigger.

She wasn't attacking. As many missions as he'd gone on, as many times as he'd come face-to-face with an Angel with red eyes, every single time it had responded with a snarl or a hiss, a baring of the teeth or a threatening and/or hungry growl. It always tried to attack, even if he might recognize that there was fear in their eyes, they would still always attack. This one only stood, eyes shining purely of fear, panic, surprise. _Her actions didn't match her eyes..._ The thought brought confusion, further arresting the instinct to fire first, ask questions later. He entertained the thought that he might actually just question her on her motives, and about the state of her dress. Although, considering Maggie wasn't here, he could never be quite too sure... He'd made his decision quite quickly, however, and as he took a breath to begin speaking, a _roar_ thundered out behind him.

And in that moment, he flinched. He flinched, and a wave of flame erupted from the nozzle of his gun. The burst of light ended quite as shortly as it began, and where he expected to find ash he instead found himself staring at the nauseating sight of a thoroughly burned back. That of a _Daemon_. It was black, cracked and bleeding, blistered and bubbling. The remains of what used to be... a... a sleeveless cloak, as far as he could tell, was smoking and smoldering, and was quickly ripped from the Daemon's back. Disturbingly enough, the Daemon stood - for it had been crouched down, leaning over... the _Angel!? _- and turned to face him. And suddenly he was affronted by a terrible visage of pure malice, the likes of which he'd never encountered before. Gaunt, skeletal features, complemented with an ashen tone of skin, but colored with the blood and gore of he could never guess what, and _covered_ in scars.

It was as if a dead woman had been raised from the grave, but brought straight from _hell_, from the look in those eyes; those black, black eyes. Her lips were drawn back from a mouth full of large, sharp teeth, gleaming with saliva tinged pink with fresh blood. And Emmett McCarthy really was _just_ a simple man. He had no way to deal with the sudden shot of fear that speared through him, because his simple life had never encountered him with a situation quite as terrifying as this. Sure, he'd faced death and beings that claimed divinity when in reality they were quite far from what their namesake suggested, but he'd never faced an _actual_ devil before - and he was almost explicitly sure that _this_ was exactly that: a devil. In this land of howling winds and mercilessly biting chill, he'd never felt quite so cold as he did staring into those eyes.

"Comrade Emmett," He tensed further at the sudden call sounding over the screaming gusts of frigid air, but didn't dare to turn his face from that of the devil plotting his ultimate, untimely demise. Although, the archfiend did turn her gaze from him to fix the stare on Tanya as she stepped through the trees and into sight off to Emmett's right. "I see you found my quarry, and my, a Daemon hunter as well!" The devil growled; this rumbling, grumbling noise like an enraged carnivorous beast soon to attack. Tanya shifted the gun in her arms, so that it was pointed sort-of at the unkempt, naked woman's feet. The growl became louder, but strange as it was, her gaze was focused back on Emmett. Tanya chuckled her amusement, and spoke once more, "Taking your eyes off of the more obvious threat?"

"Subtlety," The woman hissed in a low, raspy tone. "Is what will kill you more efficiently." He would admit that he was surprised the woman could even speak in human tongue, after all the growls and roars and hisses. Plus, the positively feral look about her didn't quite inspire a belief that she was well and civil enough to speak English.

"He's only a Daemon-"

"_Exactly!_" she growled, snarling and spitting her fury as her eyes narrowed. "You never know what desperation and adaptability will result..." Tanya smiled, finally coming to a stop directly next to Emmett.

"Lower your weapon," Tanya told him as she slowly, carefully slung the weapon onto her back, tightening the strap slanting across her chest to keep the gun immobile. Emmett blinked, chancing a wild glance in her direction, but he quickly turned his attention back to the woman in front of him, only to find her watching his leader through those hostile, narrowed eyes. Hostile, _suspicious, _narrowed eyes.

"Ma'am?" he questioned lowly, wondering if he had simply grown very momentarily delusional with fear and imagined that up. But Tanya glanced sharply at him, her tone somber and serious and most certainly commanding as she repeated the order.

"_Lower_ your _weapon_, soldier; it's disrespectful to threaten your superiors with fire," His jaw dropped, and he finally turned his gaze from the woman, fixing his commander with an incredulous stare. "

"_Ma'am!?_"

"I don't want to have to tell you again, _comrade_," He quickly relaxed his stance, the gun still in his hands but pointed towards the ground next to his foot instead of at the woman that now relaxed slightly. And then she turned her back to the both of them, crouching again over the mass of pale flesh lying in the snow. She began speaking softly to the Angel, while he and Tanya waited patiently for her attention to return, all the while observing her - Emmett noted with yet more surprise how her back was bloody and black with steaks of carbon, yet the skin seemed to be nearly fully healed already.

"Who _is_ that?" Emmett questioned lowly, looking to his commander with eyes that shone with questions he refused to allow past his laconic facade. She read them in the fear, wary caution, curiosity: _How did she survive? Why did she protect an angel? WHAT is she? _But Tanya said nothing, adopting this thoughtful expression as she turned a speculative stare towards the two women. They were both standing now, the feral female still with her back to them but no longer speaking; her companion was speaking instead, with a soft smile meant to calm the protective fury still tensing her shoulders. It was a few seconds still before the woman tensed further and glanced over her shoulder. The Angel stopped speaking, never looking away from the woman standing stiff before her.

Tanya stared silently at her, the woman stared back, and for a miniature eternity the two engaged in a secret conversation through their gazes alone; until, finally, the woman nodded her head once and turned fully around to face them. The Angel only moved to stand closer behind her, at her shoulder, the tips of her fingers brushing lightly over the still tender skin of the woman's lower back. The cool press of flesh against her back was soothing to the heat that still throbbed in the new skin, but the physical affirmation of support was a comfort she drew fresh strength from - the healing factor had kicked in and drained her of what energy her quick meal had provided. Tanya nodded back, with a tight smile, and spoke at Emmett without removing her eyes from the two women standing stoic and still before them.

"That is Isabella Swan, agent zero. Commander of the Washington faction; starter of the rebellion; half-breed," she turned her smile then to Emmett. "And the woman that spared your life; congratulations." Her tight smile morphed into an easy, relaxed grin as she took in the look of utter shock on the man's face; she found herself able to chuckle at the expression, even as she turned back to the veritable legend still watching her silently. Her eyes were no longer fully enveloped by the darkness of rage and possessive instinct, and sharp teeth weren't scarring her lips any longer, though the blood still remained - but that was rather hard to tell through the already existing gore that painted her. Now that she was calm, she finally looked less of a devil; instead, she more favored a wraith. "I'm-"

"Agent seven-three-seven, Tanya 'Denali'; I know who you are," Isabella rasped, her tone almost a growl but lacking the strength to approach it. She appeared to be absolutely worn out - and she was. She was actually _swaying_ slightly, her shoulders were drooped and her eyes were glazed over as if she should be dead or unconscious, but her stubborn will wouldn't allow either option... Tanya had to wonder exactly _how_ this woman still managed to stand on her own two feet, when _she_ felt tired just gazing upon the grotesque figure of scarred skin, stretched too-tight over bone that should rightly burst through the flimsy flesh. She looked pathetic. But, she _was_ impressive.

"Right, of course," Tanya's smile leaned more towards tight once again, and she couldn't actually be sure whether it was from the note of almost-disdain that colored Isabella's tone as she spoke, or from considering exactly _what_ it was that someone had to go through - that an _almost-Divine _had to go through - in order to end up in the state that Isabella currently presented. "This is Emmett McCarthy, agent five-nine-two. And I do apologize on his behalf, the events that _almost_ occurred here." Emmett was still staring at the two, taking in every detail of them now that his life wasn't being threatened by the gaze of the reaper, so he didn't really react until Tanya cleared her throat and nudged him in the ribs with her elbow.

"Huh, what?" He glanced at her, and she smiled still and inclined her head towards the bloodied beings. He flushed, realizing his misconduct and immediately bowed lowly, stammering his own apology. "Y-yes, I... i-if I'd known, I-"

"It's alright," Isabella rasped, softer than before, her eyes strangely lukewarm as she met the confused gaze he turned on her as he tilted his head upwards. The gaunt face staring back at him, with a scar tearing through the smooth canvas of her face, slanting from her temple and over her right eye, was... oddly soft. With all the sharp, jutting protrusions of her cheek bones, and even a second scar decorating her left cheek, he couldn't find any callousness or leftover anger, not even a spot of mistrust in her corpse-like gaze. She seemed... understanding and... almost kind... It confused him to no end. "You're just doing what you've been conditioned to do. You couldn't have known who she was and-"

"Pardon me for interrupting," Tanya interjected suddenly, her smile dropping as she turned a sharp gaze upon the Angel that still stood at Isabella's back, now earnestly running her fingertips over the skin, clearing away blood and black carbon streaks without thought. She could feel it calmed the Le- err, _Isabella_. She could feel that it was needed. "But we don't exactly know _who_ she is. Would you mind introducing us to your Daemon devourer?" Isabella's sort-of soft look hardened again at the moniker bestowed upon her sweet humming bird, and she sent something of a sneer towards Tanya.

"Watch yourself," she spat, just barely biting back a threat to _make_ her watch herself. "Alice helped me escape - and where the fuck was the cavalry for me, huh? Where the hell were you, where the hell were _MY_ PEOPLE!? SHE-" An insistent hand fell heavily on one bony shoulder, a low murmur drifting to her ears from Alice as she leaned her head against Isabella's back, between her shoulder blades. It was a plea for composure, for calm in the face of those that might provide them a temporary stay from the climate. It was a reminder that Alice was covered in Daemon blood, while she was not. _It's okay..._ She felt teeth that she hadn't realized had dropped and sharpened, retract back as her sight became less vivid and intense with the withdrawal of her temper. She swallowed thickly, eyes cutting away for a moment as she tried to reign herself in.

_It'd never been this bad before..._

"For what it's worth..." Emmett piped up, bringing three pairs of unsettlingly inhuman eyes upon him. He fidgeted for a moment before clearing his throat self-consciously and continuing on, "I _know_ she's not bad." Tanya's brow rose, silent skepticism dancing in her eyes. He flushed lightly, huffed and hunched his shoulders as if protecting himself, and his claim. "Well, she isn't! She could have killed me; I'll admit, I hesitated. I hesitated for... gah, _at least_ ten seconds. And I had the gun pointed at her... But she didn't even try to get out of the way. If she was a Daemon hunter, she would have attacked. She didn't." He shrugged and grinned good naturedly at the set of red-ringed eyes that peeked at him from over Isabella's naked shoulder. And then he realized they were peeking from over a _naked _shoulder. "Oh!"

He immediately shed the thick, heavy white jacket he wore over the plain white shirt that strained against his well-muscled torso. Flushing still, he ignored the chill in the air as he stepped closer and cautiously handed the article of clothing over, not meeting the curious, dark eyes of the half-breed in front of him. She looked from him to the jacket and back again, before she finally reached for it, gingerly taking it from him and just holding it in her hands and staring at it once more. Eventually, she shifted slightly away from Alice, slinging the large coat over herself and shoving her arms through the sleeves... and it hung off of her like a sack of potatoes. Emmett guffawed, and she sent him a playfully irritated glance before turning a quick glare to Tanya - so that she might warn the Fallen one off of joining in on Emmett's merriment. She'd always had a soft spot for Daemon... she'd none for Angels, though Alice was the _only_ exception to this._ And if Jasper hadn't turned traitor..._

"Thank you," she told him, quietly, sparing a small smile. He flushed slightly darker and nodded once.

"I can't imagine how you feel, if I felt cold underneath my layers..." he shrugged off the genuine gratitude shining dully from her eyes, stepping back towards Tanya with his hands stuffed as deep into his pants pockets as he could get, staring at his boots as if his life depended on it. Isabella smiled still, huddling the jacket closer around her, relishing in the warmth his leftover body heat provided for her. She had been so cold she was numb, and could only feel the temperature as sharp stabs of pain that she was so used to feeling, she just blocked it out. But now she could feel the cold, and finally allowed herself to be overtaken by a fit of shivers that could have shattered her teeth for how hard they were chattering.

"Why don't you two come with us back to base, hmm? We can warm you up, get you cleaned and fed, and then interrogate you." Tanya smiled brightly, and while Isabella didn't even try to stop her eyes from rolling or the irritated huff that slipped past cracked, dry lips, Alice nodded and made to follow them as they turned and began to lead the way. Of course, Isabella followed after her.

* * *

"Your name," The redhead sitting across from him in the bare, slate gray room looked deceptively young. Innocent and naive. Hardly more than a child. Isabella could sense the age that clung to her, could see a weariness in her eyes that spoke of years long past, evils seen and committed and repented. She could also hear how it wasn't quite a question aimed her way, more of a soft demand. It almost irritated her, but she felt an odd sort of respect for the girl, that she could look her straight in her crazed eyes and make demands of her. _Angels - especially Fallen - were a bit more ballsy, though..._

"Isabella," she still rasped, despite food and water, a shower - which was _surprisingly_ warm - and clean clothing. That almost animalistic quality of an almost-hiss, almost-growl affecting her speech, and the wild, savage light still danced her eyes. Civility wouldn't change her, wouldn't fix her. She was far too broken now. "But you knew that." Her grin is entirely feral, meant to inspire unease. The young-looking girl hardly blinks, but nods once.

"I did. But these preliminary questions are-"

"Part of the necessary and proper procedure," Her sigh was sorrowful, but her frown was grim. "I _know._"

"Right, and I don't want to be stuck in here with you anymore than you want to be stuck in here with me. So let's come to a compromise, shall we?"

"I'll cooperate-"

"And I'll ask questions," They shared a short, affectionless grin between them, and Isabella nodded for the girl to go on with her planned course of questioning. "Okay, species?" Isabella frowned again, eyes glaring down at her boney hands, clasped together on top of the polished steel table separating the two of them. The room and walls were bare, but for the two occupants, two chairs which the occupants occupied, and the table that stood between them.

"Outcast," Isabella spat out eventually, grimacing. She'd been searching for a term to accurately describe her, to accurately describe what she was and had become. _Abomination_ had been a close second, but outcast just seemed to fit her so very well. Maggie - the redhead before her - noted the bitter tone, but didn't bother to follow that particular line of questioning into her reasoning for such an unbecoming label; she wisely chose to leave it be and move on.

"Affiliation?"

"Daemon."

"Age?"

"Fourteen." Maggie had been prepared to fire off her next question in just as quick succession as the previous ones, but the answer brought her up short. Mostly because she could sense that it wasn't a lie. The woman before her, the _WOMAN_ before her looked to be in her mid-twenties, underneath all the scar tissue and skeletal features; she might even be able to pass for being older, and yet she claimed such _youth._

"Beg your pardon?" Maggie stuttered, wondering if, by some strange twist of fate, perhaps she had heard incorrectly. Isabella's gaze was steady and hard as it clashed with Maggie's, her tone deadly serious as she spoke again.

"Fourteen. My age is fourteen."

"_Years?_" Isabella's face twitched, half twisting into some incredulous expression approaching exasperation and annoyance quite quickly.

"YES! _Years_, I am fourteen years of age!" She huffed irritably, took a deep breath to calm herself, and glanced away from the Fallen before her again. "I was fully grown by the time I was four..." she explained, sitting stiffly in the chair, thin arms crossed over her chest as she waited for more questions. Maggie gathered her wits about her, only just remembering that perhaps she would be taken more seriously were her mouth not still hanging open.

"R-right..." _A six year old had started the rebellion..._ "Has anyone ever told you that you are startlingly impressive?" Now Isabella's lips twitched, but a smile just couldn't form on the scarred, barren surface of expression. She tilted her head towards the girl, eyeing her thoughtfully. Finally, her features seemed to soften, the tight line of her mouth relaxing into something almost resembling a smile, but one that didn't have the slightest chance at chipping away at the bitter spark lighting her still wild, dark eyes.

"I know some that would disagree with that claim..."

"And I know that they'd be wrong," Maggie told her, matter-of-factly, feeling oddly bothered by the pensive tone Isabella had adopted and in need of fixing it; for all the weakness she was warned of and could finally see herself, there was this... _something_, something about Isabella's very aura that spoke of might and strength she couldn't quite describe. And finally, that smile that had been teasing her lips split her face enough to show a short flash of teeth - and Maggie wouldn't admit out loud how uneasy she felt seeing them all so sharp (_was... was that normal?_) -, but although that bitter light was quite defunct with the meant to be comforting words, now it was replaced with this look of such utter... _hurt._ Maggie swallowed, her finger twitching as she fought the urge to grasp at the spot where her heart would beat, as the tenebrous smile struck some nerve deep inside her.

"You'd be surprised." Maggie watched her for a few moments, and Isabella just stared back, not bothering to hide the myriad of emotion playing out in her eyes. _Pain. Loathing. Disgust. Hate. Sadness. Darkness. Fear. Acceptance._ It was a long minute or two before Maggie took a breath and turned her eyes away from those darkly accented orbs that told stories she wasn't sure she wanted to hear; they were stories she was obligated to ask after, however. And Isabella knew it, too.

"What..." Maggie paused, clearing her throat as the heaviness that clearly weighed down on Isabella's weak shoulders somehow finally shifted, filling the space between them and settling over Maggie. The gravity of her question, and the evidence of the answer both physical in scars and in the kaleidoscope of feelings that were swirling still in those orbs of darkness, witnesses to evils untold in the nine circles of hell - they choked her. Throttled her airway. As if her instincts protested against the question she was obligated to ask. That dismal smile grew wider, and Maggie glanced at her with eyes of apology, her mouth opening but still no words coming forth.

"Go on," she encouraged, still so soft. Even with the crazed eyes. The savage, near death appearance. Even with the scars, and the sharp protrusions of bone virtually ripping through sallow skin. Even with the cadaverous appearance, she was so soft and... and somehow, that was worse than if she were angry and raging. Isabella wasn't sure when she'd suddenly grown comfortable with this girl - probably when she denied the declarations the Devil had gouged into her soul with a cool defiance and an admittedly adorable pout - but she'd lost that edge to her voice. She felt sorry for the girl. Because she would know the truth. And the truth was worse than any death she'd watched with an air of apathy, even as the guilt of standing at the sidelines tore a rift in her sullied soul.

"What..." Maggie swallowed, licking her lips and letting out a breath. "What happened to you in there?" Isabella looked away, smiling, and let her eyes slide shut for a few moments, considering the question. When she let her eyes open, the light of emotion had dimmed into this lackluster darkness that twisted Maggie's gut when the smile widened even more.

"I died."

* * *

**Emmett is more serious in this; this world doesn't really allow for too much pranking and video games, sad to say. Still a sweety, though ^^ And Izzy gets simultaneously better and worse. She's gonna be almost bipolar for a bit, calm down but keep the temper and that savagery about her. Trust issues and blah-de-blah. And next time, on "No Mercy, Only Violence" - B's got night terrors, Alice prefers Emmett, and Fallen Angels are super distrusting of Alice, yeeeaaaay!**

**I've been in a dark mood lately, one I'm finally overcoming. Kinda lost inspiration for other stories... all of them. But this one suddenly rebirthed itself in my brain, kicked the dead body of my brutally murdered muse, and proceeded to dance about the keyboard in the form of my fingertips. And I don't really give a flying fuck if you review, cuz ya know what? I'm satisfied with this chapter. I like it, and that's all that matters.**

**BUT ONCE AGAIN, I MUST REPEAT THE IMPORTANT MESSAGE THAT I'M GOING TO BE TAKING A BREAK FROM OTHER STORIES BECAUSE MY MUSE WAS HUNTED DOWN IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT AND BRUTALLY MUDERED. Like, unnecessary violence in the murder, too. So while I'll be trying to work on other stories, they will be working against me. Patience is a virture which I will use to ignore complaints =D**


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